


Constants, Circling a Point of Focus

by Upupanyway



Series: Constants [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Yearning, comics/tv crossover, envy - Freeform, it all gets sorted in the end, matt's a catholic., pov matt murdock but like times two, there are some sexy scenes pls don't read if you're a little one, vaguely post endgame, vaguely set during the zdarsky run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Upupanyway/pseuds/Upupanyway
Summary: 616 Matt gets stranded in a New York that's eerily similar to his own, but isn't quite so.





	1. Matthew Michael Murdock

**Author's Note:**

> I've been fiddling with the idea for a long while, and suddenly I developed a galaxy brain and wrote this in like 3 days. May the Lord help me.

When one has known someone as long as Matt Murdock has known Foggy Nelson, a certain level of familiarity is to be expected. When one has been casually in love with that person for almost the entirety of that time, there are things that register as unequivocally and quintessentially _that person_ , and they become so obvious even a blind man could see them, even non-superpowered ones.

 

So it's no surprise that Matt recognizes him in the crowd of bustling bodies in New York. Amidst the chirping voices of millions of people and the thudding footfalls, an unmistakable and steady heartbeat bumps into his shoulder.

 

And it's not just the heartbeat but the person it's attached to. The smells, the texture of skin, the surprised hum and consequent apology. The whole picture paints, in Matt's head, a crystal clear and unshakable understanding that this is Foggy.

 

Which is strange, because Foggy is definitely at work. In fact, it's from whence Matt was headed to his own work. So, unless Foggy had found a way to be _here_ faster than a taxi ride and have enough time to indulge in a late afternoon bagel, by the smell of him, it seems improbable to say the least.

 

Foggy is also chatting on the phone with someone else called Matt Murdock, someone who is not himself, so might also be a sign that something's off.

 

And, okay. Matt has experienced a lot of weird things in his life, and it's within the realm of possibility that there's some tampering with the universe going on. Eeriness settles into his pores and it occurs to him to form some epistemological questions, to find out who has been messing with his senses yet again, maybe see a therapist, but Matt is nothing if not curious and brazen, so he opts for the obvious course of action.

 

He makes a heel turn, takes up a light jog and chases the other man down.

 

"Foggy? Foggy _Nelson_?" he calls, feeling a little frantic. He hears Foggy's phone shuffle around in his pant pocket as he turns to face the voice.

 

"Yes? Is there anything I- Oh, wow, holy shit." Matt deciphers each note of those precious few phrases, letting the slow recognition play out. Neither of them move forward.

 

"Matt Murdock?" Foggy asks it slowly, as if fully expecting a no, but bracing for a yes.

 

A yes he kind of loses his shit over.

 

"Okay, how is this happening?" Foggy asks, heartbeat also rising.

 

"I don't know. Should we be figuring it out?"

 

"Yes! Yes, Matt, we have to figure this out. Why are you not at home? You just said you were home! And what have you done to your _hair_?"

 

"Is there something wrong with my hair?" Foggy had _just_ seen him, and it was fine fifteen minutes ago. Still, Matt finds himself blushing a little, not wanting Foggy to see him when he's not, well, at his usual level of handsome.

 

"It's all red and floppy! When did you have time to-" Foggy makes a gesture at it, some emphatic, questioning thing.

 

"Different than usual, then, is it?" Matt asks him. It's definitely not the thing to be fixated on. "Okay, let's figure this out somewhere that isn't the sidewalk," Matt suggests, because judging by the bodies swerving to avoid the pair, they're really not helping the rush hour situation.

 

~~

 

He didn't mean to invite himself into Foggy's apartment. It's always nice to be in Foggy's apartment.

 

It's not Foggy's apartment.

 

Well, not his usual Foggy's, anyway. But after one train ride, a phone call to a dead line that was supposed to be Matt's workplace, and a confusing walk in a very new side of the city Matt had somehow yet to explore, it dawns on him that it he isn't even in his usual New York.

 

"Welcome to my humble abode, I guess," Foggy says, sounding as hollow as Matt feels.

 

Matt makes his way over to where he knows the couch should be, tracks the low level frequencies vibrating off of it like sonar. Incidentally, it's in the same spot relative to the door as where his Foggy has it. Something in Matt eases at that. It is, he supposes, fundamentally the same person under the background weirdness. He wonders if the decor is as ugly is his own Foggy's. 

 

( _"You're practically the only one who ever comes over, Matt. It's not like anyone's gonna complain about how all these patterns clash."_

 

 _"_ Patterns? _! You mentioned the colours, but Foggy, there are_ patterns? _!"_

 

_"Nothing more egregious than my bowties!"_

 

_"I want you to say that again and you can tell me what's wrong with it.")_

 

"So what happened?" Foggy asks. It's his cross examination voice, which is to say, inquiring and probing without the usual condescending malice that other lawyers tend to sprinkle in. The same lovely flitting between baritone authority and tenor joviality performing a duet in his ears. So familiar. In a different context.

 

"I honestly don't know. I was visiting your office, dropping off dinner for you, by the way, you're welcome," Matt offers a quippish smirk and hopes it sets Foggy at ease somewhat. "And I was running a little late for work so I took a cab and now I'm here."

 

"We don't work together?"

 

And it sounds genuinely confused and a little hurt. This Foggy might be expecting the worst from him. That wherever Matt was from, it hadn't occurred to him and Foggy to be partners. But he and Foggy are miraculously fine right now, friendship-wise. His Foggy, at least.

 

"No, I, uh, quit a few months ago. I'm a parole officer now."

 

"Oh. I see. I mean, good for you, actually talking with the criminals you beat up and all that." He's rationalizing, and the words are coming fast, defending and mulling over the idea in equal parts.

 

"No, I quit that too."

 

"Oh." Foggy intones. Matt feels the syllable in his chest. He doesn't know how to read into it. "Hm. You're really not my Matthew, huh."

 

"Your Matthew?" There's an envious little hope at that. Small as the chances might be, there could be a version of them together. It would mean that it's not impossible for him.

 

"The one from here, I mean. The one I know best. He's not mine, but he belongs to the same place I do. I don't know. Possessives are weird," Foggy rambles, quashing that hope. Maybe neither of them have even considered it in this dimension. Maybe Matt's the anomaly across all these timelines.  "I think I'm freaking out a little bit. Is that okay? I've never been confronted with this sort of existential insignificance before."

 

"You're not insignificant," Matt offers. He cringes at himself. It's the kind if thing he would say in his dumb young teenagehood when his crush would express self-consciousness, hoping he would seem suave and appreciative. It's entirely the wrong tone, because it gets Foggy to pause for a dreadful, unreadable moment.

 

"Shit, where are my manners?" Foggy shoots up from his seat. "Can I offer you anything? Should we be getting dinner or something? Have you eaten yet? Do you need a place to stay?"

 

And it's charming to witness Foggy bumble around him. He's just so well-meaning. But, again, that niggling discomfort at the unfamiliarity rears its head. That he's not recognized by this Foggy.

 

"Foggy, relax. At the end of the day, we're still Foggy and Matt. We're best friends. We might not belong to each other," _but what's new?_ Matt thinks, a little bitterly, "but that's not gonna change just because I've shifted dimensions."

 

"Okay," Foggy breathes. "Okay. Queries still stand, should we be eating? I feel like we could be eating."

 

~~

 

Foggy stress eats. This also appears, well, trans-universal. He eats greasy, sugary, and sloppy. He licks his fingers clean of sauces. He chews like an eldritch being. Sometimes, he talks with his mouth full so Matt can get an even better whiff of the garlicky, buttery mess in his mouth.

 

Matt had started to find it endearing somewhere along the way, and it's humiliating. He was a man of standards, after all. But he can filter out gross, as he does every day. The sounds of licking skin, the smell of Foggy's saliva, the shifting tongue, the throaty hums between bites, the sheer, radiating feeling of Foggy's pleasure; these stick.

 

"So who do you think we need to contact for this?" Foggy asks over the wet sound of his swallowing. Matt thinks he's reaching for a napkin, but he grabs for another saucey piece of chicken instead. Matt moves his fork around his giant bowl of salad.

 

"At a guess? Maybe Doctor Strange? Tony Stark? Hell, maybe even Thor. Or any of the Avengers, really, I'm sure they can probably fix my situation in the next few days."

 

Foggy chuckles dryly. "That's really funny, dude. Like we can just call up the Avengers. 'Uh hey, Dr. Banner? We have a situation here. _'_ Man, what a dream."

 

"Do we not know the Avengers in this universe?"

 

"I'm sure if we did, I wouldn't be having an aneurysm every week at Matt's Daredeviling."

 

"No, I think you'd be in a similar place," Matt muses before taking a hefty bite of dates and arugula.

 

"You're shitting me." Matt shakes his head. "You know the Avengers? And you're still a massive dumbass? Wow, dude, it’s worse than I thought."

 

"We should still try to contact them. I think that's the only way we'd get anything done about this."

 

"Alright. I'll get the word out. Somehow. I mean, I'm nothing if not resourceful, right?"

 

"That I agree. I'm sure you'll think of something, Fogs. I mean, I can help in the meantime, since I guess I'm unemployed here."

 

"Oh, great. That'll be nice. Good. Perfect. Thanks, Matt. Greatly appreciated," Foggy goes on. He also finally, _finally_ grabs for the generous pile of napkins and starts to clean himself up.

 

Matt finishes the last few bites of his food and reaches for the dishes.

 

"Oh, you don't have to. You're a guest, just let me-" Foggy insists, reaching over to Matt's hand on his plate. Matt imagines some lingering. In reality, it's a comfortable touch that comes from being close friends. That's fine, too. Anything but being strangers.

 

"No, it's fine. Go wash up for the night or something, I got this." Truth be told, Matt needs some time to acquaint himself with the space and the city.

 

It's like living your whole life in the same apartment building only to come home and be met with the suspicion that everything has shifted two inches to the left. Except with the entire city.

 

"Is this your way of telling me I smell bad?" Foggy jokes, still nervous around the edges, but easing into something lighter.

 

Matt gives him a performative sniff, hovering his nose just inches above Foggy's shoulder like a weirdo. Almost touching. Not quite.

 

"Yes," he says plainly. "You smell like dinner. Like five layers of oil and garlic."

 

"That's _flavour_. But point taken."

 

~~

 

Foggy used to sing in the shower in law school, back before he knew about Matt's senses. He knew, of course, that his wailing notes could be heard despite the water, but since the extent of Matt's long suffering through the cacophony was not yet known, Foggy did so without much shame. He doesn't do that anymore.

 

Matt finds himself wondering if this Foggy ever sang in the shower.

 

~~

 

"Where you always a ginger?" Foggy asks from the couch (now an open futon) when Matt steps out of the bathroom, trailing heavy steam behind his naked back.

 

"As long as I can remember." He untwists the towel from around his waist and begins to dry his hair. Gratifyingly, Foggy's heartbeat spikes.

 

"Jesus Christ, dude. Really shameless, aren't ya? I left some of Matt's clothes on the chair at your 2 o'clock. I hope you don't mind sharing with yourself."

 

"Not at all," Matt answers, stepping into a soft pair of boxer briefs. _Perfect fit._ "Is your Matt not into sharing?"

 

Foggy thinks for a second, patting the duvet smooth in front of him

 

"Actually, no. He's a bit of a greedy bastard."

 

"Sounds about right. So, what is he? Blond? Brunette? God, he's not bald is he?"

 

Foggy hugs with a slight laugh. "It's like a honey brown. Red in some lights, I guess. Less hair than you though. You're like, full 60s Beatles, mop top."

 

"It's not that weird, is it?" Matt stretches out on the furniture comfortably, still mostly naked. Foggy, miraculously, combs a hand through Matt's wet hair briefly and pats in back down.

 

"No. Still handsome as ever, wounded duck."

 

"Wounded duck?" Matt asks, amused.

 

"Inside joke, I guess." Foggy explains quietly, dazedly.

 

"And what colour's your couch?" Matt yawns and starts to settle between the sheets. His fatigue has finally caught up to him. It feels like he had been tired for a million years.

 

"Like a dark blue? It's from my last apartment. Marci picked it out, actually."

 

Matt swallows his disappointment. This isn't even his Foggy, after all. "Marci?" More to the point, he doesn't know a Marci. Matt ponders how deep the differences go.

 

"You don't know her? She's an ex. Well, we were never super serious. We're friends, now, I guess."

 

"Oh?" Matt has to ask, even though his lids are so heavy. He's a friend, and these are the kinds of things friends ask each other. And he also knows Foggy, specifically that Foggy is known to fall hard and fast.

 

"I mean, I did propose to her a little bit," Foggy admits, bracingly.

 

"And she said no?!" Matt's horrified, furious and relieved. "But you're such a catch!"

 

"Har har. Thanks, Matt." Its sarcastic and Matt wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. If this one is anything like his Foggy, well, the Foggy back home, he's wonderful. "No the timing wasn't right. I don't think it would have been a good idea for either of us, actually.”

 

“Don’t marry someone that doesn’t respect you,” Matt tells him with a stifled yawn, curling around a pillow.

 

"Hey I should let you sleep. You can come to work with me in the morning. God, that'll be funny." Foggy pats him on the shoulder and heads to his room.

 

"Night, Foggy," he calls after him.

 

"Night Matt."

 

~~

 

Matt hears him at night. He knows it must be him. Well, the other him. There’s no other reason a mysterious figure would stop so long on Foggy’s roof. Matt can track him easily on this clear night. He follows his movements down Foggy’s fire escape, and he knocks on the brick, not the glass that would be loud enough to wake Foggy.

 

Matt doesn’t stir, but he listens.

 

“I know you’re awake,” Daredevil hisses from the other side of the window. “I know you can hear me.”

 

Matt doesn’t get up. Experimentally, defiantly, he raises a middle finger towards the window, hoping the gesture reads clearly. The man on the other side of the window bristles, so Matt knows it did.

 

“Whatever the fuck you are, stay away from Foggy. You don’t touch him, you don’t talk to him, you don’t even breathe on him, alright?”

 

Matt sits up, a grin stretching across his face. _Oh, this is fun_ . “Fuck off,” Matt tells him, undeterred. “He invited _me_ in, tonight. Go back to punching baddies, Matthew. I’m going to get more sleep.” Dramatically, Matt throws a blanket on top of himself, pointedly sniffing in the Foggy smells and tucking himself in deeper.

 

He hears the other him make his way down the steps, cussing along the way.

  
There are some other constants across dimensions, it seems. _This is going to be so fun_. Matt laughs at himself. Is that really how he comes across?


	2. Matthew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone [remember](https://readcomiconline.to/Comic/Defenders-2017/Issue-3?id=116891#17) [ Gary ](https://readcomiconline.to/Comic/Defenders-2017/Issue-3?id=116891#18)?

Matt can hear the pair approaching the office from several blocks away, both chipper as ever. _He_ is carrying Foggy’s bag for him and batting his lashes, touching Foggy all over with his filthy fucking hands.

 

Well, maybe it’s actually more respectable than that. Maybe he’s just being nice because Foggy is carrying a bag of baked goods and coffee, so he offered to sling the satchel over his own shoulder. Maybe the lashes are hidden behind dark glasses anyway. Maybe the unwandering hand resting at Foggy’s elbow isn’t any more flirtatious than Matt’s own. It doesn’t detract from the fact that none of that should be happening in the first place.

 

“And then- you wouldn’t believe it- Matt, actually starts sassing him! As if his whole career isn’t on the line! What an idiot, right?” Foggy says.

 

“No, no. That completely tracks. When _I_ was that age-”

 

And it's like that the whole way to the office. As if they're actual friends.

 

Matt is waiting in his office, poised like a dog ready to start barking when the pair walk in.

 

“Morning, Karen!” Foggy greets like sunshine, placing a neat pastry and coffee onto her desk. The other man echoes the sentiment, heavier. “For you, the loveliest of the office.”

 

“Thanks, Foggy. Who’s this?”

 

“That, my friend, and hold on to your hat for this one- is none other than-”

 

“Matthew Michael Murdock,” Matt finishes from the door.

 

“No way,” Karen says, immediately. “Wait, what? How?” She stands from her chair and makes her way around her desk. Tentatively, she faces the man, taking in his features slowly.

 

“Hello, Karen,” the other Matt coughs.

 

Foggy steps in. “Well, we think he popped in from another dimension on a weird taxi ride and he didn’t notice the flashing lights because, well, you know. Something along those lines. We’re going to try to contact the Avengers and figure this out. Hey, you okay there, buddy?” Foggy asks, and reaches over to touch the other Matt on his arm. On his _forearm_.

 

“Yeah, Foggy, yeah. It’s just been a while since- anyway, I’m still not entirely sure this isn’t some weird dream.”

 

“That’s fair. You want to dig into the danishes and discuss some things?” Foggy leads the man back to his office, and Matt and Karen remain frozen. “You two are invited, by the way.”

 

~~

 

“Wait, Tony’s dead? Tony Stark? That bastard! He would have been so useful right now,” The other Matt laments.

 

“Well, none of the other numbers or addresses you gave us work, either. How do we know you aren’t lying?” Matt notes heatedly. This was already a huge headache for his inner dialogue.

 

“How have you not teamed up with _any_ of the Avengers by this point? Anyone who actually matters? What are you, an idiot?”

 

“Hey, I resent that! I’ve worked on a team once- reluctantly- and guess what? I almost died, so forgive me that I'm not entirely enthused.”

 

“That's part of the job description! You’re so fucking- not even Spider-Man? He’s a pretty good pal.”

 

“From what I hear he’s just a kid from Queens, so no, I’m not up for aiding and abetting a minor.”

 

Everything the other Matt says is grating and inane and Matt finds himself wanting to leave on multiple occasions.

 

“Okay, I think we should calm down a bit,” Karen suggests icily. “Matt, maybe you could go for a walk and cool down?”

 

“I don’t need to cool down,” the other Matt says, and Matt can hear that disgustingly benign grin on his features.

 

“No, not you, the other Matt. Our Matt. You can’t see him but he seems like he’s just about to boil over.”

 

“Yeah, maybe we should figure that out while we’re at it. We can’t just keep calling you both Matt,” Foggy pipes in, the clacking on his keyboard coming to a sudden stop.

 

The other Matt considers for a moment.

 

“You feel like my brother. For all intents and purposes, you can be Mike.” The other Matt says, decisively.

 

“We don’t have a brother.” Matt counters. “We’ve never had a brother.”

 

“I didn’t until like, last year, buddy. Then my fictive twin somehow came to life with a bunch of memories and a shotgun, and boy howdy, here we are. The twin boys Matthew and Michael Murdock. Do keep up, Matty.”

 

“Foggy, are you hearing this shit? He’s clearly insane. That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Your _senses_ don’t make sense. There’s a lot about this world that made sense until I met you, buddy. And you have to admit, there are things that don’t line up unless we take this guy at his word. You can’t see the resemblance, but it’s downright uncanny, Matt,” Foggy tells him, patiently.

 

“You know what? Fine. But I’m not giving up my name. I have a business to run, in case no one’s noticed. With my name on the plaque outside. I have meetings, and everyone is expecting a Matthew.” It's a childish point. He's coming across childish and unimpressive. Matt frowns at himself, but the point does stand.

 

“Hey, dude, I’m really sorry, but do you mind taking up another moniker while you’re here? For some reason, our Matt’s not feeling too generous.” He can feel the slump of Foggy’s shoulders as he resigns himself and turns into the living manifestation of weariness.

 

“Sure. Anything for you, Fogs,” the other Matt says, easily. Matt takes a hot sip of coffee. He hates in the direction of everything. “What do you want to call me?”

 

“We could go with Mike, since you brought it up. Or if there’s something you always wanted to be called, you can pretend for a little bit.”

 

The other man considers it for a moment, and lets out a soft chuckle to himself. “I don’t suppose you know anyone by the name of Gary?”

 

~~

 

Gary’s a bastard. Matt hates him vehemently. All morning, he hangs around Foggy’s office, occasionally sharing an anecdote that gets Foggy to tell him how cool he is. Otherwise, he’s there to discuss casework like Foggy used to with _Matt_.

 

“I’ll get lunch for the office,” Matt announces when a few hours have ticked by. Karen offers to join.

 

“Can’t let all my duties as an administrative assistant fall onto my boss. What kind of business are you running here?” she shrugs with deliberate levity. Really, he knows she wants to talk.

 

“Aw, thanks, guys,” Foggy says. He hardly pays Matt any attention, and turns almost immediately to Gary again, already snickering together with inside jokes.

 

~~

 

They chat idly on their way out of the office until Matt is sure the pair back at the office can’t or won’t bother to eavesdrop.

 

“What was all that, then?” Karen asks, nudging Matt on the shoulder. She seems amused.

 

“I don’t like him.”

 

“Why not? He’s just you, right? Of course he and Foggy get along.” She says it like it’s obvious. She says it lightly. Like she’s not understanding.

 

“I met him last night and he was all… smarmy at me.”

 

“Smarmy?”

 

“He was over at Foggy’s. I don’t know. He was all smug like he had won Foggy or something. That’s not how people work. Only Foggy decides that. And anyway, how do we know he is what he says he is, anyway? He could be evil.”

 

“You’d pick up on it if he was lying wouldn’t you?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“And was he being honest when he was explaining his whole deal to us this morning?”

 

“Yes, but-”

 

“Then there’s no reason you should be so pouty. You were sending daggers at the guy in there. Man, thank God he doesn’t have working eyes.”

 

“Okay, as a blind person, I’m going to have to point out the ableism in that sentiment.” Matt wasn’t feeling any lighter, but letting himself banter was easing some of his tension.

 

“Don’t defend him while I’m defending him, Matt.”

 

“Okay, but still, he was being awfully smug,” Matt pouts.

 

“Have you met yourself?!” Karen snickers. “Actually, yeah, you have. Believe me when I tell you that’s just how you are. It’s kind of gratifying seeing you experience it from the other side. Okay, now none of that face, Matt. what do you think Foggy will wanna eat today? Gotta win back your man somehow.”

 

Matt’s blood stops in its tracks. 

 

“What?”

 

“You’re being all jealous and pouty right? Well, I’ve been rooting for you guys since _we_ broke up, so suffice to say I’m going to help you win him over if you want to.”

 

There are so many parts to unpack here that Matt’s brain just short circuits.

 

“What?” he repeats.

 

“Please, give me some credit. I’ve known you guys for all of three years and have had to suffer sharing an office with you guys for, what, two of them? You can see it, too, right? The way you two are together? It’s like him and Gary, but like, a thousand times worse.”

 

“Oh.” _It’s good to know I’m that obvious_.

 

“Stop with the faces, Matt. We’ve gotta get food for the office.”

 

~~

 

They’re almost back when Matt starts tuning into Foggy and Gary. Just to know what to expect.

 

They’re seated a comfortable distance apart, a whole meeting room table in between them. But, they’re also talking animatedly about some legal theory or another, and Matt tries not to catch how often Gary leans in and touches Foggy’s arm.

 

“-think that there are principles and assumptions about the management of criminal bodies that need to be- oh hey, look, Ma- Gary, lunch is here!” Matt catches with increasing volume as he follows Karen inside. Specifically, he has a box of Foggy’s favourite fried noodle dish in hand, on top of his own favourite pickled vegetables and curry. 

 

“Smells delicious, Karen!” Gary greets happily, as he and Foggy move out of the meeting room to help Karen with the precious goods. Then, like an afterthought, adds, “Matt.”

 

They do some shuffling around and Matt takes care to give Foggy his food first.

 

“I got you that seafood yakisoba from down the street. The Itos say hi, by the way.”

 

“Thanks, Matt,” Foggy says with such warmth that Matt feels like he’d won something.

 

“Yeah, thanks, Matty,” Gary says, taking the other box inside Matt's bag. “God, that tsukemono smells perfect. How did you know I loved this stuff?” The man takes a pair of chopsticks and moves to sit back down. Matt hears the soft brush of fabric as Gary casually rests his hand on the small of Foggy’s back to move past him. Matt seethes.

 

“Here, Matt,” Karen says, stifling a snicker and handing Matt a bento box and opening up her own Oyakodon.

 

~~

 

By the end of the work day, they had had three meetings where they’ve had to introduce Gary as Matt’s cousin from Georgia. He would sit in Foggy’s office while the meetings went on, one of Matt’s books in hand. He would also listen in and offer regrettably decent insights afterwards, which was a hit because the man is actually competent.

 

“I mean, before I was doing parole, I did practice law for almost two decades, you know,” Gary would shrug.

 

And every time, without fail, Foggy would radiate admiration and would even sometimes say “amazing" in that awed voice that Matt hated when it wasn’t aimed at him.

 

~~

 

“Envy’s not a good look on you, Matty,” Gary says at the front desk while Foggy packs up for the day. Karen had already gone, having some social event with Claire and Colleen and probably other friends whose names didn’t start with that hard consonant sound. Apparently it was non-negotiable. Apparently stinky men weren’t invited.

 

( _“But maybe one day one of you will ascend and become a sophisticated man of class.”_

 

_“How close am I?”_

 

 _“Hm. Closer than Matt is, anyway.”_ )

 

“Whatever do you mean?” Matt asks it like a stab.

 

“You’re kinda funny when you want to be, actually. Say, do you know the difference between envy and jealousy?”

 

“They’re functionally the same, are they not, _Gary_?”

 

“Nope. They’re not even remotely similar. Just thought you ought to know.”

 

“Hey, Mat-Gary, are you ready to go?” Foggy asks, chipper as ever.

 

“Sure am, buddy.” Gary unfolds his cane and suavely takes the arm Foggy offers him. He turns to Matt for a second and whispers something to him, quiet as a breath. “ _Envy_.”

 

“What was that?” Foggy asks.

 

“Oh, nothing. Sorry, just thinking out loud for a second.”

 

“All right, let’s head out, then. Bye, Matty. Have a good night. Check in at some point if you’re so inclined. You know where I’ll be.”

 

The pair head out and Matt stays behind for a beat. He goes around the office one last time to make sure everything is ready to close. Cups washed, windows closed, computers off.

 

He checks a few definitions before that last one, and broods the way home.

 

The phone rings as he opens the door to his apartment.

 

“Unknown number. Unknown number. Unknown number,” it calls as Matt fumbles for it in his pocket.

 

“Hello? This is Scott Lang, from, uh, from the Avengers, actually. A bunch of us realized you were trying to get in contact with us, so I guess we wanted to see what’s up?”

  
_Oh, thank Christ_.


	3. "Gary"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ahead

It’s kind of nice, not needing to go out during the night. Not having to keep up with as strict an exercise regimen, letting the fatigue really set in and being able to go to bed at a decent hour. All the better because he could do it all in the comfort of a space he was sharing with Foggy. _Temporarily_ , he reminded himself. And it’s not like this Foggy was exactly his Foggy. There was a history they didn’t quite share. There were points of difference that were just almost familiar. Some diverged drastically. All furniture two inches to the left. He’d been told this one was blond. But he wants to get back, he should get back to his own dimension.

 

The packaging is all the same though. There’s a familiar warmth in Foggy’s voice, a conviction with which he speaks that reminds Matt (well, Gary, for the time being,) so narrowly of his own Foggy, that it was almost natural to forget sometimes. Gary knew he had to get back home, but in the meantime, it sure is nice to be able to reacquaint himself with his best friend. A vacation of sorts. A courting in the shy beginning stages, fully knowing already how well they get along.

 

A blank slate where Gary hadn’t had decades of disappointing his best friend.

 

So they share dinner again. And they watch a movie together. Foggy competes valiantly with the visual description and runs circles around it. The world of Adam Sandler comedies has never felt more vibrant.

 

It feels natural to offer to take the dishes again, so he does. It also feels natural to lean down and press a kiss to the top of Foggy’s head when Foggy limply offers to help but sinks back down into the couch they share.

 

“Ah, shit. Sorry, dude,” Gary tries to course correct when Foggy freezes.

 

“Hey, I have a question, actually,” Foggy says instead. “Were you actually flirting with me today, or were you just trying to get a rise out of Matt?”

 

 _Ah. So he’s noticed._ And he’s cornered. There’s no way out but through.

 

“A bit of both?”

 

“Wait, really? Why?”

 

Gary-Matt shrugs.

 

“I like you. I’ve known you forever. If we can’t flirt as best friends a little, what’s the point, right, pal?” It’s lame to his own ears. Overcorrecting. He feels his ears heat up.

 

“Okay, but _we_ haven’t known each other forever. Isn’t that kind of the point?” Matt feels gutted. A rejection on several levels. Worse, they're strangers.

So he takes the dishes to the kitchen and starts to rinse them before putting them in the dishwasher. It takes a little longer than it strictly should. Eventually, Foggy gets up from his contemplative seat and makes his way over.

 

“I didn’t mean it like we’re not getting along, and I’m not doubting that you’re really Matt Murdock, by the way.”

 

“Good.”

 

“I just mean, like, isn’t this easier? Not having the baggage of a bunch of history together?”

 

Foggy steps closer, and it makes Matt more inclined to nod his head as he turns the sink off.

 

“Do you actually want-,” Foggy steps even closer now, but doesn’t finish the thought, and Matt licks his lips. He also takes his glasses off and leaves them on the counter. He wants Foggy to see his face. Really to look at him. Hopes whatever he sees is something like what Matt himself sees. His best friend. A little different, a little green, but fundamentally the same. And _willing_.

 

_God, if I could have this, even for a night…_

 

Matt reaches out and traces the line of Foggy’s jaw with a still-wet hand. He feels the other man shiver beneath his fingers.

 

“Matt,” he starts. He doesn’t finish this thought either.

 

“Yes, Foggy?”

 

“Why did you flirt with me?”

 

“Because I wanted to. Because I’m- I’m envious of your Matt, and I want him to feel it, too. Because I’m a bastard and he gets to have you as a best friend and mine would never think to-”

 

“I’m not him. I’m not your Foggy.”

 

“I know. And I still want you. I know you’re not the same person. But at heart? If you’re anything like him, you have the gall to stand by me for a long time, and God, that’s so sexy.”

 

Foggy snorts. “Narcissist,” he chides, but he closes the distance between them and punches him lightly, affectionately, on the chest.

 

“Want me to wax poetic about you? I’ve only spent 24 hours with you, but I can already do it.”

 

“I doubt it. You’re a terrible writer, Matt.”

 

“Him, too, huh?”

 

“Oh, yeah. One time, we had to write essays for Dr. Janssen and -” he gets cut off with a possessive kiss.

 

“Don’t talk about him. He sounds like a dick.”

 

“He kind of is.”

 

“But you like him?”

 

“Yeah. God, forgive me, I do.”

 

“And me?”

 

“I haven’t known you for that long, but yeah, I suppose you’re a dick, too.”

 

“Foggy-”

 

“Yes, I like you, you ass,” Foggy lets out a long suffering sigh. It sounds like, well, it sounds like him. “I like you, too. I guess.”

 

“Because I’m him?” Matt finds that he wouldn’t mind. It’d be pot and kettle, because it’s not like he hadn’t been comparing Foggy to _Foggy_ the whole day, but something still settles in the pit of his stomach because that’s not all he wants this to be. Because comparison aside, Foggy, this Foggy, is also brilliant and deserves to know it.

 

“Because you’re you. And I guess you’re kind of the embodiment of at least most of the qualities I like, no matter how I look at it.”

 

They kiss again, meaner this time, just as playful. Perfect, despite it all.

 

~~

 

There's elation at being adults, where exploring someone else’s body isn’t laced with the taboo of developing youth, where consent is consent and the fear of God or some other parental figure’s approval doesn’t really factor into it anymore.

 

With Foggy, this Foggy, it’s a little different. Matt, his Matt could be at the window at any moment, a looming presence where the fallout could hurt Foggy, and Foggy still wants this. There’s a thrill at the taboo. Rebellion. And they giggle and bite and pet and touch everywhere because _Fuck that guy, this is all mine_ plays over and over in Matt’s mind like a euphoric mantra. It’s spiteful sex, victorious sex, possessive sex, and it’s glorious because it’s Foggy, despite the asterisk.

 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Matt whispers into the other man’s ear, taking fistfuls of his soft, soft hair, seated neatly on Foggy’s lap.

 

“Tell that to me when I’m not dick deep in your ass, buddy,” Foggy responds, dark and heavy and still self-deprecating.

 

“I will. You’re so beautiful, Foggy. Oh, my God, you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” And Matt chokes a little on his words because Foggy starts moving his hips, and Matt has to bite down on Foggy’s strong, broad shoulder to keep from embarrassing himself.

 

“Really assuring coming from a blind guy,” Foggy laughs, amazingly still coherent.

 

A short string of expletives later, finding a steady rhythm, Matt finds his voice again. “You’re a sensory marvel, I don’t know what you’re talking about. So fucking perfect. Your -fucking _cock_ , buddy, oh my God,” he trails off to moan and grunt and whimper. Eventually, Foggy slows down to let Matt speak. "Foggy, your face is like, I don’t know, velvet, it’s complex and soft, and I could lose my fingertips mapping it out. God, your nose, it’s a magnificent nose, and your lips are like, fuck, like something almost liquid under it all, juicy, so perfect for biting.” Matt kisses Foggy’s gasping mouth to make a point. While he’s at it, he topples Foggy down with a strong hand so that Matt’s just riding him now, slow and sweet, because it’s what Foggy deserves. He takes his time feeling all the skin on Foggy’s chest, tracing the hair, the nipples, the pliant, warm combination of skin-fat-muscle, and he praises every inch of it.

 

In the back of his mind, Matt remembers another version of this body, shaky and frail and losing to cancer, and there’s some emotion that wells at the thought. He wasn’t always so nice about Foggy’s body, but he’d much rather have this. Skin plump with life, muscles and bones strong under it all. Breath full of something savoury and hearty, nothing even close to bile.

 

“Perfect,” Matt repeats. He’ll keep saying it, over and over again, until the whole world knows.

 

“Ah, you’re so nice to me. I could get used to that.”

 

“Could you?” Matt asks, a little hopeful. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t hope. But it’s so much easier to have this as a certainty than to go back to the years and years of useless pining even if that is his own Foggy and it’s where he belongs. Matt can’t help but feeling like it’s warmer here. At least for the time being.

 

He only realizes he’s stopped when Foggy shifts again so that he could have a better angle and he starts really moving again, in earnest. Steady, strong, powerful, like Foggy always is.

 

“Hey, do you mind if we move around a bit?”

 

“Of course. Go ahead.” Matt follows Foggy’s lead, revels in the feeling of hands on him, the little kisses Foggy presses onto his cheeks, his lips, his jaws, his neck along the way. 

 

Foggy lays him out on his back like he’s something precious, and traces along his scars with deft fingers, humming with displeasure at each one. He kisses him again, full, deep, and heavy while he finally enters him again.

 

“I think I could fall in love with you, Foggy,” Matt says, dazed and swollen at the lips. These are precious words, scarce words that Matt had hidden in his throat for so long that they stumble a little on their way out. It’s not lost on him that this isn’t the Foggy he’d always wanted to say them to. But it’s like practice. Training wheels for the real thing.

 

“Oh, Matty,” Foggy breathes in reply, and he kisses him again. The sentiment reverberates through every fibre of Matt’s being.

 

Matt could finish, just like this, and it would be perfect.

 

He unlocks their lips to breathe and starts to snake his left hand between them, but Foggy catches it and his other hand in his own. He pins them on his headboard with his infinitely broad palm and smoothes down Matt’s hair with his free hand.

 

“Not yet, I wanna do it for you,” Foggy whispers.

 

“God, perfect in every way.” Matt takes his long legs and wraps them behind Foggy’s head to drag him in for another kiss. He will take as many as he can.

 

“Holy shit, you’re pretty flexible in your old age,” Foggy says, choking on his levity.

 

“Hush, I’m more spry than you are, kiddo.”

 

They laugh some more, they fuck some more. When Matt finally grunts and spills onto his own chest, Foggy chides him lightly for making such a mess. In retaliation, Matt shifts off of him and finishes him off with a teasing hand, whipping off the condom just in time to make Foggy a hypocrite. 

 

“What a dick,” Foggy pouts, lightly slapping Matt’s face and wiping off the cum that had made a home there.

 

“Yeah, it is quite magnificent, isn’t it?” Matt stands up, cheekily presenting his now flaccid cock to Foggy’s amused chuckle, and bundles up their sex towel onto Foggy's lap with a nonchalant toss.

 

“Clean yourself up, you filthy animal,” Matt mocks and heads to the bathroom.

 

Maybe Matt _could_ get used to this.

 

~~

 

They’re cuddling naked. Honest-to-God cuddling, which Matt had not done in a very long time. Since Kirsten, and even with her, it hadn’t been great the last few weeks. Foggy’s warmth and musk and his unscented soap wrap around the two of them in a haze of the familiar and new. Their legs tangled together, Foggy’s quiet breath a steady beat behind him, Foggy’s inquisitive fingers tracing pathways on his skin.

 

“How did you get all these scars, man?”

 

“I got hit by a truck, actually.”

 

“Wow. Out of everything, all your superpowered antics aside, a truck really did you in, huh?”

 

“First in my rogues’ gallery if you think about it. Lost my sight to one of those fuckers.”

 

“Matt-”

 

“It’s fine now. I don’t even go out patrolling anymore. There’s less risk of jostling anything.”

 

Foggy takes a hand covered in scar tissue in his and brings it to his eyes for better examination before kissing it with a frown.

 

“Take care of yourself, Matt.”

 

Matt laughs, something breathy and affectionate. “God, the amount of times I’ve heard that in my life. Same voice, too.”

 

“The amount of times I’ve said it, more like.”

 

“Fair.”

 

“Hey talk some sense into my Matt, will you? What made you finally quit the night life?”

 

And suddenly the reality of Matt’s life comes crashing back to him. The responsibilities he has. The panic, the guilt he’s shouldering. The death he’d caused with the hands Foggy so lightly kisses. Indelicate and sinful hands. He brushes Foggy’s hands away and settles further into Foggy’s embrace. Suddenly even Foggy’s warmth isn’t enough to stave off the chill.

 

“Maybe another time, actually. I’ll tell you some other time.”

 

“That bad, huh? Okay, Matt. Tell me when you’re ready.”

 

This Foggy is too young, too fresh. He would be an awful person to bring his atrocities to this Foggy’s doorstep. And yet, and yet. And yet, there’s the comfort of his chest, the soft curve of his cheek, the understanding in his voice. Admiration on his lips, absolution in his touch.


	4. Matthew Murdock, Of Nelson and Murdock

Envy. The coveting of something someone else has. Matt mulls over the word in his mind for hours. Mulls it over it when he stops some petty street criminals because there isn’t a lot in the way of crimes anymore. Not after Thanos. Not after Stark and Romanoff and Captain America. Not when the universe was too immobilized by loss, too much pain and trauma still present and the certain and immense guilt at causing more. He feels it in the city.

 

And as for envy; the envy is real, too. Gary has real bad guys to thrash and yell at and he doesn’t even take that opportunity. Matt is, by comparison, an impotent and angry man with thin skin ready to bleed. Wanting to bleed.

 

The night is over early. Before midnight, even. And even the cockroaches cease to shuffle around. Hell’s Kitchen, too, is impotent.

 

Matt finds his feet following a familiar path with only one possible destination.

 

When he reaches Foggy’s house- no, blocks before that- the envy creeps back. Knowing with certainty which bodies find solace in each other, knowing the familiar heat of two entangled close as one, knowing the soft rise-fall-snore of Foggy’s most comfortable, post-coital sleep, it breaks Matt. So he heads to Fogwell’s.

 

His brain is fuzzy and sharp at the edges all at once, his senses narrow to nearly nothing, only the punching bag in front of him and the creaky swinging on its chains.

 

He doesn’t think. He doesn’t scream. He hits and hits and hits until his hands split and protest and he keeps on hitting until he knows Foggy will worry because as much as he hates to make Foggy worry, he needs to not think about Gary.

 

He becomes well acquainted with the word “envy.” Four vile letters. The way it tastes bitter as it rolls along his teeth. The way it sounds like a curse. E-N-V-Y. To his destruction.

 

When he gets back home in the chilled and early hours of the morning, he takes a shower, smells the blood and sweat rush down the drain, and hopes without avail that this wretched feeling will leave him, too.

 

~~

 

There’s a group of antsy Avengers waiting outside the office. He can feel it already. Except, confronted with the option of sending Gary back to where he came from, Matt also finds that he has to wrestle with guilt and selflessness. Of course, he would like Gary to fuck right off and leave forever, but if Foggy liked him, if they wanted to stay together, who was Matt to break it up? What kind of person would jump at the chance to take their best friend’s happiness away?

 

Love is kind, love is selfless, as it has been said. And Matt had always known that something like this was coming. When he had first met Foggy, he knew they would stay in each other’s lives forever. He had wanted it so viscerally, even then.

 

And it hurt more with every new paramour, every new combination of sickening soaps and lotions and lube that stuck to Foggy’s skin. It hurt more and more that it wasn’t Matt.

 

And now it  _ is _ Matt, and still Foggy isn’t his. The twisted conclusions to years of half-hearted prayers. 

 

He makes his way up the second floor steps like every other day, playing up his blindness to an almost absurd degree. It's still early. A whole hour before the day is supposed to start for those who actually sleep.

 

His cane meets a foot.

 

“Hello?” Matt greets, performatively nervous. He can smell the sterile lab environment on all of them. One of them far too large, a woman, a man.

 

“Oh, yes, hello!” an easy and open voice says. “Oh shit, you’re blind! I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed, I didn’t mean-”

 

“That was Scott Lang,” The woman chimes in. “I’m Hope van Dyne. This is Doctor Bruce Banner-” the large entity gives off a massive wave and a friendly hello. “We’re from the Avengers. We wanted to follow up on a fee calls you made the other day. You said something about interdimensional travel?”

 

“So,” the gravelly, deep voice of Banner cuts in. “Are we talking split timelines, time travel, intergalactic travel from solar systems similar to ours, or something else entirely? I’m not sure we have science for that third option yet. We might have to call in Doctor Strange, but that guy’s kinda weird. I don’t know. I little bit up his own ass."

 

“Doctor Banner? Let’s not crowd the man. You're Matt Murdock, right?” van Dyne asks, politely.

 

“Yes, that is me, but I think there’s been a mistake on my end. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions so quickly. You see, I’m blind and got confused, momentarily.” Sweat creeps down Matt’s back. He has to make something up, something believable to delay this. He's not prepared for this quandary on so little sleep.

 

“But there’s a possibility? We’d like to investigate the anomaly, if you don’t mind. You contacted just about all of us. Even if you’re not a hundred percent sure, I think if there's even a sliver of a chance, it could mean something massive for us,” the woman continues.

 

Matt sighs. He shuffles around in his pocket for his keys. “Please come in, then.” He forces a smile. “Would any of you kind folks like some coffee or tea?”

 

~~

 

Karen walks in next, a mere twenty minutes later, and Foggy trails in ten minutes after her, Gary at his heels.

 

“I see what you mean,” Banner says, walking over to Gary. “So which one of you is from the other dimension?”

 

Matt sighs deeply.

 

“Me,” both Murdocks say in unison.

 

“One moment,” Gary calls, shoving Matt harshly into their tiny washroom and locking the door behind them. “Okay, what the fuck are you doing?”

 

“Can’t you just take it when I’m being nice?” Matt bites back. “If one of us has to leave doesn’t it make sense that it’s me?”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?! You’re  _ from _ here! Of course I’ve got to leave! Think with your brain for a goddamn second. They gave you one of those, right?”

 

“You weren’t so eager to leave last night, were you? I’m not doing this for you. If he likes you better, then he should get what he wants."

 

“No, shut up. What has last night have to do with anything? Neither of us were expecting last night!”

 

“Hoping, then?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Both of you?”

 

“I don’t know. But I have my own Foggy to get back to.”

 

“Didn’t stop you, though, did it? Maybe he’ll be similarly receptive to me.”

 

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

“And how was what you did any more appropriate? It’s past pulling my pigtails,  _ Gary _ . I-” Matt takes a breath. “I know how Foggy is. He’ll miss you.”

 

“He’ll miss you more. You’ve known him longer.”

 

“Fine do what you want. Fuck him and leave. That’s your MO, right?”

 

“If it is, then it’s yours as well. I don’t trust you around either of him, either.”

 

Matt sighs. He considers throwing punches, but that’ll just escalate an already undesirable situation. “Do what you want," he reiterates behind stiff teeth. "But for once in your miserable life, Gary, think about what's good for Foggy.”

 

There’s a knock on the door. Speak of the devil.

 

“Matt? Can I talk to you for a second?” Matt immediately unlocks the door. He shoves Gary out and drags Foggy in in the same second and slams the door on Gary’s face.

 

“What is it, Foggy?” Matt’s testy and angry in so many directions. A few of those are in Foggy’s direction, but that’s hard to remember when he’s standing so close that their clothes are brushing together.

 

“So I get that you know what happened between me and Gary. I get that you’re angry, but you’re being really self-destructive again and maybe we should talk about it? Are you okay?”

 

“No, Foggy, I’m not okay because you just jumped at the chance to replace me.”

 

“I’m not replacing you, Matt.”

 

“Oh? I mean you’re already closer to him than I’ve gotten to you in ten years of knowing you. He’s known you a day and a half and you’re fawning over him.”

 

“Is that really what you think? Matt, just because I’m not sleeping with you doesn’t mean I value you less. We’re friends. Best friends. Isn’t that worth something to you? Platonically?”

 

And it’s another issue, but now Matt’s just back to square one. The platonic square that’s everything just short of what he really wants. The square he’ll be at forever. The square he should value more.

 

“Foggy, I love you," he tries to explain.

 

“I know, buddy. I love you, too,” Foggy says it warm and well-meaning. It’s not what he wants to hear. It’s not how he wants to hear it. Matt feels explosive. “We’ll sort this out. Just like we planned since the beginning. He goes back. You stay. Okay, Matty? Stay with me.”

 

And who is Matt to refuse Foggy?

 

~~

 

The scientists do an entire physical examination. More specifically, Bruce Banner does an examination.

 

“Incredible,” Bruce exclaims, making gestures in the air. Karen had told Matt that it was a sort of holographic computer scenario. It’s completely lost on Matt and he quickly loses interest. Instead he listens in on other things around the room. Karen and van Dyne talking about cake recipes and potential gift ideas for Lang’s daughter. Foggy and Lang failing spectacularly to chat about sports, then the criminal justice system, and eventually switching over to talking about HBO shows. Anything except the tragedies they’ve seen in real life. Everything on banal joys. They seem pleasant enough. Matt, in the corner, by himself, sits on a chair, not being able to will himself into joining any conversation.

 

“Hey, Murdock?” Banner calls.

 

“Yes?” Gary answers. He’d just stepped out of the pod and is already making his way over to Foggy.

 

“Not you, Matt. The other one.”

 

Matt looks up. Well, he turns his head in Banner’s general direction to let him know he’s listening.

 

“We’ve been calling  _ him _ Gary,” Matt grits out. He doesn’t think Banner catches it.

 

“Something’s a bit funny. I’m getting slightly raised levels of radiation from Matt. I want to see if it’s a constant or if it’s from the interdimensional travel. Do you mind stepping onto the pod?”

 

_ Yes _ . “No, not at all. Do you mind pointing me in the right direction?” Except he knows exactly where it is. Matt’s toes twitch to move forward.

 

“Of course, it’s at your 10 about 10 paces or so,” Bruce says, twirling around to jot invisible notes in the air.

 

Matt moves and waits with bated breath.

 

“Strange, indeed.” Banner says to himself. “Okay, we’re getting increased levels for you, too. Is there anything weird that you’ve noticed about yourself? Any special abilities, maybe?”

 

Matt hears Foggy suck in a breath. 

 

“Not particularly. I had some toxic waste or something spilled on me when I was nine, though. Clearly, I survived, but, well, I got my peepers knocked out.” He also hears Foggy huff out a single laugh and feels absurdly gratified at that.

 

“And you’re completely blind? No light sensitivity or glowy magic or anything?

 

“Well, yes, I am completely blind, and as such, I wouldn’t be able to tell if I had any glowy magic.”

 

“Alright, sure, sure.” And quick as anything, Bruce chucks a pen at Matt.

 

Which he catches neatly with one hand.  _ Well, fuck _ . 

 

“I knew it! You have superpowers, don’t you? Quick pro tip, kid: Don’t lie when you’re literally hooked up to a machine that monitors your body functions!”

 

Matt frowns and throws the pen back at Banner. It hits him square in the chest and the large man protests lightly. “I didn’t like your little trick, old man.”

 

“It wasn’t a trick, my screen is very clearly- oh I see, so you really are completely blind?”

 

“Sure am, Doctor. If you haven’t found anything useful today, I suggest you pack up and come back on some other day. We do run a law firm here at Nelson and Murdock, and you know what they say about New York lawyers,” Matt spitfires, stepping out of the pod and feeling intruded upon. So this is how other people feel about Matt’s super senses, huh?

 

“Can I just ask,” Banner inquires, shoving his papers messily into a briefcase, “what your power is?”

 

“No.”

 

“Do you do hero things?” Scott asks, taking out some gadget and pushing some buttons.

 

“Does it have anything to do with how bruised your knuckles are?” Hope pipes in. She takes the gadget from Scott and some heavy objects suddenly vanish from Matt’s radar, empty space rushing suddenly at a space that was once occupied like water being funneled. Some other things that were previously very small now displacing air with alarming speed. It’s jarring. Their table is back.

 

“Hey, if you ever want to do something with your powers, whatever they are, you can call this number,” Bruce says, heading out the door and handing Matt a business card. "The number is 212-”

 

“I have seeing friends, Doctor. Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” Matt interjects, really wanting this interaction to be over. Matt doesn’t do teams.

 

“Well, that sure was something,” Karen comments, shuffling chairs around in the meeting room to give it some semblance of order. “We should get ready to meet our 3:00, though.”


	5. "Gary" (Spelled M-A-T-T)

It’s surreal, getting to have this thing with Foggy. They would share meals, get washed up together in the morning, and they would chat at home and feel social even if they just lounge around all day. And Matt had hardly let himself think of this as home, but that intrusive notion would worm its way in every now and then. It made him miss his Foggy more, to constantly bring him up as a point of comparison, because they really were only place holders for each other. They both knew this. It didn’t stop the uncontrollable wave of affection that would come at times aimed at this Foggy, not just his. They lounge a lot around the small apartment.

 

“And then Foggy, my Foggy, had an entire wedding and I had to be the best man, and it was awful. His wife was awful. Foggy, if you ever get the chance, don’t marry someone awful.” Matt could rant at him, let out all his frustrations that he couldn’t bring to his own Foggy without hurting him a little.

 

“Duly noted, my good man. But you just sat there and yearned for him the whole time? God you’re dumb.”

 

“Yearning? I  wasn’t yearning. I was- I was jealous, I think. I wouldn’t yearn.”

 

“Jealous, what do you mean?”

 

“I mean, he was mine all of our adult lives, and this woman just comes along and makes to take him from me? It was a travesty! And then he would smell like her all the time, and I could practically feel the lipstick marks where she would kiss him, and it was awful.”

 

“Sounds like yearning, buddy.”

 

“No, that would imply I didn’t have him. You only yearn for things you don’t have. You don’t understand Foggy. We were a full unit. We belonged to each other.”

 

“God, you’re so in love. Sickening. He would have been yours had you made a goddamn move sometime in the two and a half decades you’d known him.”

 

Matt makes a face. He doesn't want to be lectured. Foggy wouldn’t understand because his Foggy never showed interest. Foggy could make his move any time and Matt would follow with a wagging tail. Matt didn’t have the same certainty.

 

“You don’t know us, man. He’s not- God, I don’t even know if he’s interested in men, let alone me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m typically a lot to handle..”

 

“I don’t know, you’re a hero at heart, right? Since your first truck. And you were the mayor-”

 

“For a day!” Matt protests.

 

“You were a man of power! And now you’re not getting beaten up every day, and you’re working within a rehabilitation and reconciliation framework? Showing some empathy? It’s not like you have nothing to offer. You’re an eligible bachelor if I ever saw one.”

 

“I was married once, too.”

 

“Really? What happened?”

 

“Daredevil. Like with everyone else I ever got close to.”

 

“Hey, Matt. Listen. It’s not on you. If people are hurting other people, that’s on them. And you’re just trying to stop them. If people get stuck in the crossfire, it’s still not you throwing the first punch.”

 

“But how far, Foggy? How far is appropriate? I was still- you can do a lot of permanent damage just short of death.”

 

“It’s not on you.”

 

“Even if I killed someone?” Matt asks, suddenly dark and afraid. Foggy pauses. He reaches across the couch and squeezes Matt’s tense hand.

 

“People die all the time. Even if it was your fault, you’re still trying to reduce that in the world. Intent matters.”

 

“What if I wanted him dead?”

 

“It matters why you wanted him dead, too. There’s a fundamental difference between, say, self defense and fascism.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Matt, I think you’re a good person. I really do.”

 

“You don’t even know me, Foggy. You haven’t seen me grow up and develop. You can guess, and you can get pretty close because your Matt and I are really similar, but we’re not the same person. Do you think he would ever kill?”

 

“Sometimes? Yeah. I’m afraid he might. I would prefer he didn’t because it would destroy him.”

 

Matt doesn’t say anything. He feels the cushions and air shift around him. He feels an arm reach around his shoulders. He lets himself sink into the touch.

 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s your fault, Matty. There's more to evil than mere action. What would you say to your parolees? You’re not broken. You’re a person.” Foggy kisses his hair and Matt lets himself believe it for the moment.   
  
~~

 

They’re in bed again. Lying down next to each other. Matt’s eyes fixed, unseeing, to the ceiling, and Foggy answering emails on his phone.

 

“Why did you never make a move on him?” Matt asks out of the blue. It's so obvious to him, how much they like each other.

 

“Oh, I did.”

 

“What? And he refused you?” Matt thinks the other Matt might be the biggest idiot in the world if he’s intentionally denying himself this.

 

“Well, I was a kid. He was a kid. I don’t think either of us knew we’d become friends. And then, well, we became friends. Now, I don’t want to jeopardize that. I don’t think Matt’s into anything serious.”

 

Matt scoffs. 

 

“If he’s anything like me, he’s like that because he’s too into you to commit to anyone else.”

 

“Stop projecting. He isn’t you. I don’t think he sees me like that.”

 

“Well, pal, he doesn’t see you at all. But he wants you. Can’t you tell?”

 

“No. Because he doesn’t.”

 

“How can you think that?”

 

“Because he doesn’t! He can’t! He gets lots of dates! If he did like me, he would have said something by now!”

 

“He gets dates because he doesn’t care how they go at the end of it. He cares about you, though.”

 

“You can’t know that! You’ve hardly talked to him."

 

“And every time we have talked, it was about you!” Matt sighs and sits up. “Do you know why flirting with you was bothering him so much?”

 

“Because he’s weird about the idea that some version of him might want to sleep with his best friend?”

 

“No, Foggy. He's jealous because he thinks I'm encroaching in on his space.”

 

“Why are you doing it, then? Just to be a dick?”

 

Matt laughs at how horrified Foggy seems to be getting. “No. I mean, partly. If he’s me, he’s a dick and he deserves it. But more than that, it’s freeing. Knowing there’s no stakes for me. That you’ll still have your Matt, and I’ll find a way back to my Foggy. It’s less scary when I know I’m not losing him.”

 

“That’s kind of shitty to hear, actually. I’m a real person, too, you know.”

 

“Sorry. But you feel it, too, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Foggy admits, guiltily. “I’m sorry, too.”

 

“It’s settled, then. Everyone sucks, but at least we’re great communicators.”

 

Foggy snorts. “Yes, Matthew Murdock, famous for his communication skills.”

 

“Don’t antagonize me, Foggy. I’m fragile!” Matt laughs.

 

“Oh, yes, so fragile. I agree. Like sugar glass.”

 

“As sweet, too, they say.”

 

“Who says? I don’t think anyone has ever described you as sweet.”

 

“I was so graciously going to suck your dick tonight, but if you’re going to be mean, I guess I can take that right off the table,” Matt pouts. It’s a last resort. He has no other arguments to make. If Foggy clicks off the bedside lamp and accepts it, they’d just be two folks going to bed at a normal time.

 

“No, please, suck my dick, Matty. However will I live without those decidedly sweet lips upon my throbbing cock?” Foggy performs gamely.

 

“God, your dirty talk is insane, palaroo,” Matt laughs, but he shoves away the blanket anyway.

 

“Palaroo?”

 

“Because you’re my pal, friendo.”

 

“Friendo?”

 

“Buddyboo. Chum chum. Famigo.”

 

“Matthew.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Matt cedes and pulls Foggy’s pants down.

 

~~

 

The next morning is a Friday. Matt’s fourth day with Foggy. This vacation is getting long and Matt is beginning to feel homesick. Matt’s also beginning to feel like they’re a real couple, spending so much time together. Matt needs to do something else before he gets too stir crazy.

 

“Hey, you go into work today. I’m going to explore this New York a bit, if that’s okay,” Matt tells Foggy as he gets dressed for the day.

 

“Okay, sure, buddy. Go ahead.” He hears Foggy feel around and pat all his pockets for his keys, his phone. “Spare key in the first drawer in the living room, just under the TV.” Then, after a beat, “there’s a little devil guy on the keychain. Can’t miss it.”

 

“Thanks, Foggy,” Matt says and follows him to the door. The kiss as they part, an accident on both ends that leaves them both a little shocked and blushing. Too familiar.

 

Matt hears the lock turn and counts three seconds before Foggy coughs and walks towards the elevator.

 

~~

 

Matt takes a walk around the city to get a scope of it. He’s not really looking for anything, but he follows his senses. He takes a walk along Central Park. He walks the length of Hell’s Kitchen. He stocks Foggy’s fridge with only the best and freshest things. He tries to read a book. Eventually, Matt comes to a conclusion.

 

He’s bored.

 

Matt throws together a nice roast, something easy that cooks in the oven for a long time and turns out just this side of cooked and juicy. Mixed vegetables stuffed into every corner of the pan. By the end of the work day, Matt climbs onto the roof and lets himself get lost in the breeze and the thrumming city below him.

 

It had been a while since he had last meditated. And he had never done it in this New York. It sounds almost the same. The cheering kids from elementary schools in four directions from where he’s seated. The low hum of ten million kitchen appliances working dutifully. The slow music of the dance class at the senior centre two blocks from here.

 

Far less cries for help than Matt is used to.

 

The city's a quiet version of itself. Muted to the colorful collection of superpowered beings, genius inventors, and impossibly skilled combatants Matt himself had gotten used to. No one flying overhead. No one creating huge energy sinks in the city square. No one throwing beams of elemental magic at civilians. Different. Quiet. Melancholic, almost.

 

It occurs to Matt that he simply can't stay because he's different. It's not just Foggy with a different history. It's not just a world where he can talk to Karen and kiss Foggy and not worry about the city. It's a world where half the people had died, really died, and were brought back through a hard won war. It's a whole universe on the mend and he hadn't been around for the trauma. It's survivor's guilt to the extreme. It's a world where he is not documented. It's a world that can't recognize him as much as he can't recognize it. He can count the differences over and over in his mind but it all leads to the same conclusion. This world already has a Matt Murdock, one that fits into the context.

 

It would be selfish to stay. It would mean giving up work that he values. Giving up friends that share his memories. Giving up his own version of accomplishments and failures. Ignoring the people he had failed to protect. Ignoring that he had killed someone.

 

No, he shouldn't stay.

 

At the very least, he shouldn't let this young, volatile version of himself meet his Foggy. Foggy would take to him easily and this Matt would appreciate him too much. Hypocrite that he is, his stomach churns at the idea of his Foggy doting over another, similarly damaged version of himself until death do they part. Or maybe they wouldn't get along and no version of him could handle that indefinitely. Matt knows this to be a universal fact.

 

It also isn't lost on him that this Matt isn't prepared to deal with the screaming Hell of his own New York. One misstep with a mutant would probably get him incapacitated. Has this Matt even met a mutant, if he hadn't even come across an Avenger?

 

No, relearning the world but different and  _ more _ definitely wouldn't be as easy the other way around. Especially for Mr. "Works Alone" Murdock. He's still just a kid.

 

He untwists his Billy clubs. He hooks onto a pipe a few stories below him and jumps.

 

He finds that even the air is different as it passes through his skin. Even the wondering shouts from the voices below don't have the same tones he's used to. Different, different, different. 

 

Not his. 

 

He lands on his feet through Foggy's open window in time to take the roast out of the oven.

 

A strange mix of the unfamiliar and domestic. Playing house. Dreaming. Temporary.

 

When Foggy comes home, he should probably prepare his heart for whatever leaving this world behind would mean.


	6. Wounded Duck

Foggy comes to work the next day alone. It's a nice break. Matt hates who he becomes around the other guy.

 

They get through the day as normally as could be expected for a resident of New York in these trying times. The few clients that come in are in relatively good spirits on this sunny summer day. Matt finds himself in a good mood, too.

 

Then, Foggy knocks on his office and invites him to hang out over the weekend and the day gets even better, despite the smell of Gary all over him now, despite the knowledge that Gary will be there.

 

Karen has a lunch date which means she will be back in an hour smelling like pastrami and gun oil. Matt ought to talk to her about that but she hasn't brought it up yet, and it feels intrusive, even for him. Still, it leaves him and Foggy alone for a while, and Matt won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

"So, what's been up with you?" Foggy asks around a mouthful of burger. He'd missed the sound.

 

"Nothing, Foggy. I've been fine," Matt lies.

 

"No, Matt. You've been pissy since _Gary_ came around. Do you not like him?"

 

"He's insufferable." Matt screws his face up in pointed disdain.

 

"He's you."

 

"He's not, Foggy. Don't you see that?" Matt feels anger start to fill him again. They're not interchangeable, and Foggy isn't _getting_ that. He might not be willing to get it. In that case, what's the point of Matt fighting to stay? If Foggy opts to keep _him_ instead of Matt, will Foggy think of it any different?

 

"Maybe you'd get along if you talked to him more. I hate to be the purveyor of the obvious, but you guys have more in common than not."

 

"That might not be a good thing," Matt admits. No, he knows it's not. They're competing for resources, competing for the same niche. And Gary's winning.

 

More importantly, Matt is losing.

 

"Hang out with us tomorrow," Foggy all but demands. _Us_ never sounded so cursed to Matt's ears because up until now, _us_ had always included Matt.

 

"Fine. Does he know I'm coming over?" If Matt doesn't like Gary, it stands to reason the reverse might also be true, and maybe Matt can avoid a day having to deal with him.

 

"I'll tell him tonight."

 

"Fine."

 

They chew in silence for an eternity.

 

"What bothers you so much about him anyway? He's as decent as you are, at least," Foggy says, calculating and careful.

 

"Do you like him better than me?" Matt accuses it more than asks.

 

"Of course not!" Foggy pauses to consider it, which is concerning. There's a qualifier. "I like him differently, for sure. But the decade of friendship? That's us. I'm sticking with you."

 

Foggy's heart is steady and sure. Cloyingly honest, in direct contrast with the sharp and piercing waltz of Matt's own heart. Matt melts. He's thankful for what Foggy tells him, at least. Then he catches it, a nervous trill coming from Foggy. Imminent disaster. Matt braces himself.

 

"Okay, this is going to sound weird and totally ridiculous, so just tell me it's wrong and we can move on like I never asked," Foggy's rhythm starts to pick up and his voice gets incrementally higher. "So Ma- _Gary_ said that, I don't know, that you're, well, that you have a _crush_ on me or something." Matt's eyes widen in panic behind his glasses. Alarms start ringing in his mind. "I told him it can't be true and that you're just being weirdly self conscious about being replaced in a general sense but he's been insisting that there can't be a version of him that's not, you know, _into me._  That's not a universal constant, is it?"

 

And Matt considers saying _something_ because it's been ridiculous sealing his lips and heart for a decade. He considers telling him it's more than a crush, as a matter of fact. But Foggy sounds genuinely distraught and it's squeezing his chest, tight that Foggy's reacting this badly to the idea.

 

"No, I don't have a crush on you," Matt begins to say. A half truth that wouldn't register on a polygraph test. Matt opens his mouth to continue because he might as well put his cards on the table and come out and tell him it's way, way more than that and that it hurts that Foggy isn't choosing him, but Foggy sighs and sounds so relieved that he doesn't have the heart to.

 

"Okay. Okay, good. I guess I don't have to re-evaluate our entire friendship or anything, then," Foggy says and loosens his tie a smidge. Matt wants to feel it, to see if it's crooked. But he feels suddenly very empty and he just can't.

 

"So now that we have that out of the way, what do you want to do tomorrow? I can figure something out at home, or we can probably go somewhere for brunch, if you want to meet early…" Foggy goes on.

 

Really, all Matt does is want to eat cheap take out with Foggy in his underwear and hang out all day, comfortable like they used to be back when they lived together. Matt wants to quit Daredeviling for Foggy. He wants to cook for him. He wants to fall asleep to the sound of Foggy's snoring. He wants to fill that niche. And someone else has already done _that_ for Foggy, so what more could he offer?

 

Envy. It's an ugly thing.

 

~~

 

Matt tries very hard to stop patrolling for a night. He wants to see if he can stomach it.

 

The city chooses precisely that night to roar with life and evil.

 

A child screaming for help as her house gets broken into by people holding guns. Only three blocks away.

 

An old man choking on his own spit and overdosing by a dumpster. Six blocks away.

 

A woman being lured into a large van hiding explosives. Four blocks.

 

A man facing the sharp end of a knife cowering, pleading to God in Russian. A whopping eighteen blocks away.

 

Mrs. Kinnear slumping at the hands of her husband. Two floors down.

 

God is a bastard and Matt dons the suit.

 

~~

 

Matt comes to Foggy's early, especially for a Saturday. 9:02am according to his watch. He can hear Gary's soft singing in the kitchen, pan sizzling with the good fatty bacon Foggy likes.

 

Foggy's in bed, already showered but, by the sound of the shuffling fabric on bare skin, not yet dressed.

 

"You're here early," Matt hears a familiar voice say, not raising from its usual volume. "You should have texted, kiddo."

 

"Foggy likes nice surprises," Matt bites back.

 

"I'll say." He can practically hear Gary's smug grin. "Foggy, dearest!" Gary calls from his spot, placing the bacon onto a plate. "Get dressed, we have company!"

 

"Shit, okay. Thanks, Matt," Foggy curses and scrambles for some jeans. Matt cringes because the scene could have been so familiar in another life. Familiar from another angle.

 

In a second, Foggy answers the door and he sounds content. He greets Matt and even pulls him in for a quick one-armed hug. Matt stops himself from sinking into it too much.

 

Breakfast does smell delicious, Matt has to admit. Rich sweetness like honey and complex saltiness like cheese, an array of savoury herb sausages and real vanilla float around the kitchen like a cloud of luxury. It gnaws at Matt, just another way he's less than adequate.

 

Gary starts arranging the food on the dining room table, like a good host, like he owns the place.

 

"Take your seats, gentlemen, breakfast is served!" Gary announces with a flourish, twirling around Foggy like a dancer and setting down a plate of hash browns to his left.

 

"Thanks, Gare, food looks great," Foggy praises, patting him on the shoulder.

 

"I wouldn't know," Matt says, a little bitterly, at the exact same moment Gary also says those same words, but lighter, more playful.

 

"Remarkable, the lot of ya," Foggy muses, shaking his head and sitting down in the middle seat. Matt takes his spot to his right, and Gary to his left.

 

~~

 

When they're finished their meal, 10am has already crept up to them and Foggy suggests they take a walk in the park.

 

"It's a lovely day. The sun is out, the birds are chirping, there'll be live music," Foggy lists.

 

"By _buskers_ ," Gary counters, but he puts his glasses on anyway and finds his cane hung up by the door. "Only half of them are as good as they think they are. People will be sweating, birds will be squawking, there're gonna be dogs shitting and barking and getting wet in the fountain…"

 

"Dogs are cute!" Foggy protests, and even Matt has to smile at him. "Jesus, Matt is this what it's like living in your body?"

 

"More or less," Matt confirms. Even if he doesn't like Gary, even if Matt knows he's just playing up the disgust, it's nice to have someone understand what it's like when everything's cranked up to infinity. "And the dumpsters, the cigarettes, the raccoon piss," Matt goes on, painting an intimate picture of his favourite city.

 

“Does raccoon piss smell different from like, people piss?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Matt and Gary both answer. The three of them head out to the park.

 

~~

 

Okay, maybe Matt had misjudged Gary. Gary’s kind of fun. And he constantly talks about “his” Foggy back home, so it’s hard to miss how gone he is for other Foggy. And Matt’s Foggy, this Foggy's breath wouldn’t hitch with jealousy, only amusement, and it eased something in Matt’s mind. And the other Foggy, well, by Gary’s description, he seems infinitely brave and charming and Matt kind of wants to meet him, just to make it fair, but Gary doesn’t seem to like that idea at all. He had wanted to call out the hypocrisy, but it didn’t seem too respectable to have Foggy be stuck with two grown idiots in a fistfight in the middle of the park.

 

Maybe Matt would have a more or less safe landing, after all.

 

( _“Oh, hey, want to see if I can get this guy to give me his violin for a moment? My Foggy wasn’t nearly impressed enough at how awesome I am at it.”_

 

 _“No, we’re not going to stoke your ego.”_ )

 

( _“Hey this one time, we faked Foggy’s death, and it would have been right here. The news called him a hero, I think he liked that.”_

 

_“Hey, Matty, do you think if I were in a tough spot, you’d fake my death for me?”_

 

_“Of course, buddy. You can’t doubt by now that I’d take any chance to get a fancy new plaque with my name first.”_

 

 _“You’re the one that said it sounded better this way!”_ )

 

( _“Once, when we were kids, Foggy and I came here to share a joint.”_

 

_“What? Matthew! You didn’t tell me your Foggy was a bad egg!”_

 

_“Your Foggy didn’t have a goatee in law school?”_

 

_“If he did, I never found out about it.”_

 

 _“Shame. I looked really good with a goatee.”_ )

 

~~

 

Lunchtime rolls around and the three of them rent a rowboat for the hell of it. Like the strangest tourist date.

 

They bring along some bagel sandwiches and fruit, and there’s something happy about the atmosphere. Like some telepathic link, Matt and Gary stop at the exact same moment, in the spot where the air currents are _just so_ , and the water is calm. Fish swim contentedly below them, birds and beetles flock in the air above. The sunlight hits them head on, open and full.

 

Gary finds a way to lay back and almost seem comfortable, resting his head in Foggy’s lap. Matt likes this a little less, but he grits his teeth and lets it happen.

 

“God, this sun is so nice!” he says as he unbuttons two whole buttons on his shirt. “I could fall asleep here.”

 

“You should. You talk too much,” Matt tell him, rolling his eyes and sleeves up to his elbows. It’s not as sharp as it would have been a few hours ago, though.

 

“Hush, you just want to spend time alone with Foggy.”

 

“Oh my God.” Matt could punch him.

 

Foggy shoves a grape into Gary’s mouth. “Behave, Matty,” he chastises, twisting Gary’s long hair between his fingers absently, soft as a feather. Matt feels like he’s intruding on something. A moment. Gary’s real name. Real affection.

 

“Do you miss him? Your Foggy?” Matt asks him, reaching inside the paper bag for a bagel. He sniffs it. Turkey and sprouts.

 

Gary hums. “Yeah, of course. But we’ve had a lot of fights over the years. It’s not the longest time I’ve been without him. I just worry that he’s worried about me. It’s also not the first time I’ve dropped off the face of the planet. Stranger things, boys.”

 

“Jesus, how crazy is your dimension?” Foggy asks, fishing for his steak and cheese and handing Gary his lox. He sits up to eat proper.

 

“I don’t know, it’s just life, I guess. I guess it’s kind of like here, but more? I guess you’ve never had to deal with like, Mole Man, or Stilt Man, or, like the Coyote? Muse was an interesting guy, really chopped people up and made “art pieces” out of them.”

 

“Gruesome,” Foggy comments. “Sounds very, I don’t know, colourful tights and sound effects.”

 

“Perhaps to you. It’s also just something I live with. How did you feel what you found out about Matty boy over here? Matt, what about you? You actually have super powers. Does it feel ‘colourful tights and sound effects’?”

 

Matt shrugs, sipping from a bottle of water. “I guess, but I don’t know any different. It’s been my entire adult life. A lot of people wouldn’t believe what I tell them about Stick or Elektra,” Matt considers. He’s always known  his upbringing was strange. Perhaps the kind of thing people write about in their memoirs a breath away from dying. Like a confessional.

 

“Did you actually wear tights, though?” Foggy asks.

 

“Oh, actually, yeah. I guess you kind of model your life after the comics you read while you were young. I had these awful ones that were yellow and red and everyone kept making fun of me for it.”

 

“Like ketchup and mustard? God, I would have loved to see that.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure I looked very fetching.”

 

“If it was you, yeah, you would have been very handsome, I’m sure,” Foggy snorts.

 

“Hey, careful, now, Fogs. You can’t insult me without insulting young Matty over there. We allegedly have the same face.”

 

“Oh don’t worry. I’ve been telling him the truth about his face for years. He knows.” Foggy reaches over and pats him on the knee and Matt can’t help but smile.

 

“Butt ugly, he tells me,” Matt confirms.

 

“Like a wounded duck?” Gary asks. A current of nostalgia hits him. It nearly chokes him. Had Foggy told Gary about their very embarrassing first meeting where Matt panicked and accidentally insinuated that he was in any way straight? Yikes.

 

“Exactly like a wounded duck.” Matt smiles despite himself.

 

“Interesting.” Gary lowers his glasses to Foggy and Matt suspects he gives the man a wink.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Foggy makes to change the subject. Gary takes an innocent bite of his sandwich. Cheekily, he pats Foggy’s face affectionately with his free hand. And suddenly Matt is overcome with a strong want and it occurs to him that he could ask. The smell of fresh fish and cream cheese wafts over to him and Matt finds that it's not so cloying.

 

“Hey, Gary, do you think that maybe we could-”

 

“Go splitsies? You know, it’s funny I was thinking the same thing.” Gary says it lightly and gives up half of his bagel easily.

 

Easier than he had initially thought. He hands over half of his own sandwich.


	7. Gary, Again

Matthew needs to lighten up, Matt decides. Matt is old, and if he could somehow set up a slightly younger version of himself and the man he suspects to be the love of his life before he has to go home and mess up his own relationships, then so be it. At least he’ll know at least one version of himself is happy somewhere in the multiverse.

 

It’s easy in his brain. Just push them together a little more. Whisper in their ears little encouragements and send them to each other. He’d spent years playing devil, and it’s a generous enough goal. He should be able to do this. Foggy just needs to stop thinking Matt’s overtures are platonic. Matt needs to stop thinking Foggy kissing Gary-Matt means he doesn’t want to kiss Matt-Matt. They like each other. They’ve liked each other forever. It really should be easy.

 

Matt is actually both a dumbass and a slut, so he might be oversimplifying. But this really can’t go wrong.

 

They’re back in Matthew’s apartment, actually.

 

( _ “Figured you should visit before you fuck off.” _

 

_ “Thank you for that gracious invitation” _ )

 

( _ “Damn, you actually live like this? It smells like septic wash and iron deficiency.” _

 

_ “You know, funnily enough, no one appreciated it much when I tried to get an air freshener in here.” _

 

_ “That’s because it didn’t cover up the knife marks and blood stains on all your furniture, Matt.” _

 

_ “Sight is truly overrated.” _ )

 

Foggy rests his legs on the sofa and starts to set up a movie while Matthew shows Matt around. It’s kind of utilitarian, but it doesn’t feel much different to Matt’s own apartment back home. Same sort of textures, same temperature, and underneath everything, same smell. Familiar in an uncanny way. Like going to an entirely different side of the world and finding your hotel has the same floor plan as your home.

 

“And this is dad’s old stuff," Matt tells him, opening up a trunk.

 

“No shit,” Matt responds, a little short of breath. His fingers twitch forward. “May I?”

 

“He was your dad, too. Go ahead.”

 

Matt can’t help the gasp of amazement that escapes him when he feels the achingly familiar texture of the robe, the embroidery on the lettering, the less-than-fine stitching along the hems. When he moves onto the worn out gloves, flashes of memory hit him as he imagines his father coming home and punching him playfully on the cheek with a heavy, gloved hand. The battle-softened leather smells and feels the same on his face, the long gone memory of sweat and blood ghost along his mind. It’s just leather now. Old leather. Well loved in its day.

 

“Weird,” is all he can say once the memorabilia is tucked away again.

 

He runs an idle hand along Matt’s closet, and all the material feels just a touch less fine than what he himself is used to. He remembers the state of their firm, recalls the anecdotes Foggy has shared about his family life. Differences, differences. Not his own world. Then he catches something a little more interesting tucked furtively in the back.

 

“What’s this? A kink suit?”

 

“That’s the Daredevil suit, actually,” Matt replies, emphatically. “Was yours not kevlar and leather?”

 

“It might have been more spandex. Or rubber. Or latex. Who’s to say? It was ages ago,” Matt answers vaguely, smirking.

 

“Ah, I see. So you are really a pervert, huh?”

 

“I’m you, kiddo.”

 

~~

 

The movie’s on, and it’s something Foggy had actually wanted to see. Pride and Prejudice. The 2005 version with Keira Knightley. The younger Matt groans because he’d already sat through it at least once a year since they’d first met. More during their university days, apparently. Both Matts shut up and let Foggy enjoy the film anyways.

 

Except Foggy’s whispering along to all the lines and getting animatedly excited at the romantic bits.

 

“Oh my God, he’s standing in the rain, and they both look so hot drenched in water like that! Imagine going through all that trouble just to see each other. It’s peak romance, I’m  _ telling _ you.”

 

Foggy swings a clumsy arm up towards his own face, but Gary-Matt catches it. He also follows through on the motion to drag the man in for a kiss.

 

He catches Matt shifting uncomfortably, which just isn’t the goal.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Foggy hisses quietly so as not to disturb the film experience for Matt. All of them know how futile it is.

 

“Do you trust me?” Matt tries his most handsome grin.

 

“No.”

 

Matt pouts. “Fine, take the lead, Ma- Gary. You have one minute.”

 

“Call me Matt.”

 

Matt senses his younger self tense in his spot.

 

He pushes Foggy down so that his head is resting on the other Matt’s lap.

 

“Uh, hi,” Foggy says.

 

“Hello,” Matt’s hot face replies.

 

“Matt, what-” Matt- the older Matt, chases Foggy’s lips and they make out for a few seconds on top of young-Matt.

 

“Stop antagonizing me,” he grits out from above them.

 

Matt pulls away from Foggy and sits up. “I’m not. You’re welcome to have a turn if you want.”

 

“Matt-” Foggy protests. He’s met with a shushing hand.

 

“Would you like a turn, Matthew?” Matt knows he does. He can feel the heat pooling in his body. His face, and other regions. He registers the other man nodding. “Ask, then.”

 

“Foggy, Can I?” Matt asks, sounding genuinely like he’s opening a floodgate.

 

“Oh, Matt,” Foggy sighs, soft as ever. “Do you even have to ask?” Foggy reaches a hand to cup Matt’s cheek, which slides quickly to the nape of his neck as Foggy leans upwards and gives Matt a peck on the lips. “Is this okay?”

 

Matt nods in response and rests his forehead on Foggy’s, repeating shocked and quiet yesses like he can’t believe this is happening.

 

“We should talk about this,” Foggy suggests.

 

“Okay.” Matt listens to the wet swallowing of his other self’s emotionality. He, himself, is quite happy at the turn of events. It’s the home stretch.

 

“Do you need me to leave?” Matt asks, shifting away from the pair on the couch. Better to leave sooner when it’s not that awkward.

 

“You’re gonna eavesdrop anyway, you perverted old man,” Matt fires at him. “Might as well stay for the festivities. Unless Foggy has other thoughts.”

 

“I’m sure he knows more about us than we'd want to admit. Sure, stay, Matt. Set up shop. Have a beer.” Foggy sits up on the other side of the couch and rests his palms on his lap.

 

Matt meanders behind them over to the kitchen area, giving the pair some semblance of privacy. He takes out a bottle from the fridge and opens it with the counter, taking a long, deep swig.

 

The thing about visiting an alternate version of yourself is that at least you can reasonably expect everything to suit your tastes. He leans over and rests his elbows on the counter, not even trying to hide his presence.

 

He does eavesdrop.

 

“So is this going to be a ‘tonight only’ kind of thing or…?” Foggy asks.

 

“Not if you don’t want it to be, Foggy. I’m-I’m in this as much as you want me to be.” God, he’s supposed to be suave. Matt takes another swig.

 

“Then do you want to maybe try going as far we can?”

 

“As in like, for the foreseeable future?”

 

“I mean we’ve been together this long, might as well see how much of each other we can really stand, you know?” A nervous chuckle.

 

“I don’t know, Fog, you might get tired of me pretty quickly.”

 

“Well, I’ve invested this much emotional labour into you. I think I can stand at least another ten years.”

 

“Yeah?” He's too small and sweet. Matt pretends to gag, just so his younger self can sense it. 

 

“Yeah. Hey think the other Matt is listening?” Foggy asks as he turns his head.

 

“Oh, yeah. He’s actually a really gross old man. I can’t believe you slept with him.”

 

“Shut up, brat,” Matt calls from behind them, setting down his half-done beer.

 

“So what now?” young Matt asks between the three of them.

 

~~

 

The rest of the night is spent naked, with the young Matt finally getting to kiss and touch Foggy all over and their older mentor jacking off into Foggy’s perfect mouth. 

 

The whole night it’s a chorus of Foggy’s voice calling Matt’s name.

 

~~

 

Sunday morning, Matt and Matt go to Mass. It’s a juxtaposition to say the least, to sit on the holy pews with the ghost of Foggy’s touch still on him. He suspects his companion might be feeling something similar as his face begins to heat when the priest begins to talk about sinful desires and the like.

 

Matt sighs. He’s been there, too.

 

“Would you like to meet Sister Maggie?” Matt asks him when the little old ladies finally begin to shuffle out of their seats and readjust their hats.

 

“I’d like that very much,” Matt admits honestly. He’s not ready to call his Maggie any version of “mom” either, maybe never will be, deep down. So much of his childhood had been defined my absence, and it feels like a betrayal to that legacy to give Maggie that, as if that childhood had just happened like it ought to have.

 

“Matthew,” she greets as they approach her. She gives Matt a brief hug. “Who’s this?”

 

“Hello, I’m Gary,” he introduces himself, hand outstretched, slightly off center. A routine. A fallback. She takes it firmly and primly, squeezes lightly. The camaraderie of a stiff woman, affection devoid of easy warmth. He can practically feel her scrutinizing gaze as her head shifts minisculely up and down.

 

“I’m Sister Maggie. No last name, then?” she asks.

 

“None at all, Sister.” He flashes her a smile.

 

“Fascinating. And how do you know each other?”

 

“He was just in the area, passing through,” Matt explains with a shrug. “I guess we realized we have a lot in common.”

 

She hums for a beat, unmoving. “Yes, I rather think you would.”

 

~~

 

The three of them get ice cream from a stand around the corner. It’s the fatty kind, stiff and cold to thwart the summer heat. They face each other on a circular park table, breathing in each other’s air.

 

“So, Matthew, care to tell me why this man has your father’s face?”

 

“This is Matthew Murdock, Sister,” the woman’s son explains.

 

“As in my husband had a son I didn’t know about?”

 

“As in he’s me from another dimension.”

 

Gary licks at his cone.

 

“What?”

 

“We don’t know how he came to be here, either. But he has his own world, a little different from ours, but I think it’s structured the same. He was also, you know,” Matt explains, making little horns with his fingers.

 

“Was?”

 

“I’m retired, actually.”

 

“Talk some sense into this one, then,” Maggie all but orders. There a trace of humour to her tone, but it’s cut with something more serious. He is her son, after all. “Any reason in particular for this visit?”

 

“Well, I figure, you’d want to know if you had another son walking around."

 

“Actually, I wanted to see you, sister,” Gary interjects. “I think you both ought to hear, but I stopped my, uh, nightly activities because I killed someone.”

 

“You what?!” Matt sputters.

 

“I’m warning you not to do it,” Gary continues. “It wasn’t on purpose. Blunt force trauma to the head isn’t always- anyway. I’m a parole officer now. I talk to offenders and try to put them on the straight and narrow. I figure words hit softer than clubs, anyhow. I think,” Gary sighs, arranging the point into something definitive in his mind. “I think for a long time I was thinking God was all about judgement and punishment. I was taught about the fiery pits of Hell, the torment, the wrath. But there’s this whole other side to theology, about redemption. I want to be the hand of God that gives people a taste of redemption.”

 

“That’s very noble of you,” Maggie comments, praisingly.

 

“But, Sister, I have to tell you, I still hear so much pain. The justice system doesn’t even catch anyone, and even the ones that are caught, they're not all willing to listen to reason. Sometimes life is hard, and I get that, but with some people, they just want to hurt. And I’m not exactly the kindest parole officer, not to everyone, at least.

 

"I didn’t come here for advice, and I didn’t come here for approval. I just wanted to let both of you know where I’m standing at the moment.”

 

“Why?” Maggie implores. She’s finished with her ice cream and she crumples up the paper and napkin.

 

“To let you both know this isn’t easy or cut and dry. I trust you, Sister, to help Matt find resolution with the wrath, but I want you to understand where the anger comes from. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if my anger is of God, but I know that it’s strong. 

 

“See, I’m probably going back home pretty soon, and want Matt here to be supported. He is, in a manner of speaking, me, after all. He has some support. But If he’s anything like me, he’s cursed with Catholicism, and it would put me at ease to know someone is here to understand him.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind. That’s a very mature stance to have. For all it’s worth, I’m proud of you, Matthew.” Maggie says it warm, and gives Gary’s hand a squeeze. “But I think it’s also pertinent to ask; are you happy with your choices?”

 

Gary laughs coldly. “Has my happiness ever factored into God’s plan, do you think?”

 

“I think if it hadn’t, He’s a bastard so I’d say fuck Him.”

 

Gary ponders this and decides he likes the sentiment. “Thank you, Sister.” He squeezes her hand back.

 

The three of them part ways. Matt bumps him on the shoulder in a friendly way.

 

“Thanks, man.”


	8. Kiddo

Monday rolls around much like last Thursday. Banner and crew waiting by the door, a small bag of endless equipment at van Dyne’s hip.

 

“Mr. Murdock!” Doctor Banner greets.

 

“Morning, Doctor.” Matt answers, curtly.

 

“Fine morning for interdimensional travel, isn’t it?”

 

Matt gives him a perfunctory smile. He also hears can Dyne and Lang whispering to each other, loud to his ears, about whether or not their research will work. Lang is hopeful. Van Dyne is realistic.

 

“Good mor-” one of them starts to say.

 

“Morning, Ms. Van Dyne. Mr. Lang.” Matt slides past them, gracefully avoiding their bodies, and opens the door to his office. He folds up his cane and waits in the meeting room without a word.

 

“Okay, dude, we get it, you don’t like us very much,” Banner discerns as he follows the man inside. “We won’t pry any more. We won’t ask you to join the Avengers or anything. Non-interference agreement, alright?” He waves his white flag in defeat, two hands raised as a show of no malicious intent.

 

“If you don’t mind, we would like to start setting up, actually.” Van Dyne is already rummaging through things in her bag.

 

“The floor is yours.”

 

Karen walks in early today, too, stepping in just as the crew start to turn their whirring and beeping machines on.

 

“Oh, morning!” Karen says as she spots them all. “I didn’t know we had guests.” It’s passive aggressive, and perfect. Matt wants to hug her.  “I guess we’re cancelling our appointments.”

 

“Oh, sorry, I suppose we should have contacted all of you before we came,” the woman apologizes.  _ Thank you _ . Matt wants to scowl. It would be rude to scowl.

 

“Hello! Oh, you’re all here already! Good,” Foggy greets. “Sorry, we meant to tell you guys, I just got a little distracted.”

 

Everyone takes a moment to study the pair. Matt can’t see them, but he can sense the laugh in Gary’s chest, the finger through Foggy’s belt loop, just above his ass, the heat from their skin indicating recent exertion and the shower-fresh wetness on both their heads. He has a clear enough picture as it stands. Matt doesn’t have it in him to frown too deeply.

 

“Okay, let’s get started, then, shall we?” Scott urges, clapping his hands together.

 

~~

 

“Okay, so what we have to get right about interdimensional travel is that we have to get the trace right. Every dimension has a faint trace and it’s in everything. Something less than tangible, like LaCroix fruit flavour on an atom,” Scott explains while Hope and Bruce do the actual science. “Now, the tricky part is that atoms are constantly moving, right? You could be standing still, and all the subatomic particles that make up ‘you’ are moving in and out of existence, snapping between nuclei, rubbing off on surfaces, collecting from the atmosphere, et cetera, et cetera.

 

“So we have to be absolutely certain that the traces that we’re measuring aren’t accidentally from our dimension, otherwise we’re just powering up this bad boy for nothing. If we get this wrong, you might suffer serious bodily harm from being sort of stuck in two places at once, and that would be very no bueno. Does that make sense?” Matt feels everyone nod in unison.

 

“So I’m saying two things. One, this could take a few hours, so Matt, you might want to sit tight for a bit. Two, we’ll need a pretty significant amount of your body so we can compare its particles against atoms in our dimension so we can be sure we’re sending back all of you in one piece.”

 

“And where would we be getting these samples from?” Interdimensional Matt squirms. 

 

“Well, we could technically get it from anywhere, but we’ll need a pretty large amount, something more than just a finger or a tooth-”

 

“How do you feel about a haircut and shave?” Van Dyne appears beside Lang, electric razor in hand.

 

~~

 

“You don’t look terrible,” Karen consoles, when they’re piled into Foggy’s little office, huddled in a square.

 

“Thanks, Karen, but I can tell when you’re lying.”

 

“No, no, you look handsome!” Foggy assures him. “And shaving definitely makes you look younger.” He hears Foggy rub the top of other Matt’s head in a misguided effort to comfort him.

 

“Thanks, Foggy.” He sounds so miserable.

 

Matt wants to cackle.

 

“I bet you look like an egg.”

 

“Shut up, pipsqueak. You’re going to jinx it and get bald for real. At least mine’s going to grow back.”

 

“Hey, old man, you’re closer to that fate than I am,” Matt counters. He reaches over to touch the very, very cropped hair and is immediately batted away by bald Matt’s cane.

 

“Hands. Off,” bald Matt hisses. “You know, the worst part is this isn’t the first time I’ve gone bald.”

 

“There’s a story there, right?” Karen asks, smoothly stepping between the two Matts as if it wasn’t a calculated move.

 

“Yeah. I was in a weird place. Reinventing myself. I thought it would be really eye catching. Foggy warned me off of it, too. I should have listened.”

 

“Was it? Eye catching I mean,” Karen prods.

 

“Hell if I know. Probably not any more than the horns, if I’m being honest.”

 

“God, you’re stupid,” Matt jeers with a wide-toothed grin.

 

“Funny, I could say the same of you.”

 

“Guys, really, behave yourselves. How old are we?” She steps closer, resting her head on Matt’s shoulder, reaching around and pinning his arms in place covertly. Maybe it’s a bit of affectionate leaning. Maybe it’s a little bit leashing a yapping dog. “Also, while we’re at it, why is Foggy covered in hickeys?”

 

“ _ Covered _ ?” Bald Matt sounds shocked. “How dare you, miss? I’m a gentleman.”

 

“Okay,  _ what _ ?!”

 

“I mean, we’ve been rooming for the past few days. This Matt is  _ very _ forward,” Foggy defends.

 

“Are  _ you _ okay with that?” Karen directs it at Matt, truly searching. He shrugs.

 

“The guy’s leaving anyways. Besides he’s gotta deal with being bald now. Worse fates.”

 

“Matthew. I will come back and haunt you. And yes, he’s okay with it. We came to an agreement.” Then, after a beat, because Matt Murdock will always be a menace, “Pardon the pun.”

 

“What pun? Okay, wait, ew. Gross. Also, why am I the last to hear about office gossip?” Karen laments and snaps her hands away from Matt. “You’re gross, by the way, Matt. Both of you.”

 

“I mean, technically you’re the last one to hear about it because you were the only one in the office that wasn’t present,” Foggy adds bashfully. "I guess I was the agreement, then."

 

“You’re gross too.” She points a righteous finger at Foggy. She exits the room and dramatically sinks into Matt’s office, two whole closed doors away. The three men wait for her to settle down, and then start laughing a little hysterically.

 

“Holy shit!” Matt hears. She’s laughing at all of them, and it’s nice to hear her laugh.

 

“She’s just laughing at us, right? She’s not really mad?” Foggy asks to be sure. Matt gives him a little nod.

 

“Yeah, she’s laughing at us. We are a little stupid.”

 

“Hey, do you guys mind if I talk to her for a second?” other Matt asks, head turned in her direction. Matt and Foggy let him leave.

 

There’s the shuffling of feet, the closing of doors, the soft sounds of two people leaning close, hips on Matt’s desk.

 

“What’s he saying?” Foggy asks.

 

( _ “Hey, Karen.” _

 

_ “Hey, Matt. What’s up?” _

 

_ “I just- I’m going to tell you things that might upset you, is that okay? I know you really value honesty.” _

 

_ “Of course, go ahead.” _

 

_ “Okay, well, Karen, you died. Back in my world. I long time ago in fact.” _

 

_ “Holy shit. Is it non-negotiable? Is that going to happen to me?” _

 

_ “I don’t know. It’s Bullseye. Watch out for a guy called Bullseye. Poindexter.” _

 

_ “Poindexter? No, we’ve done him in. There were a lot of people who didn’t survive. But I did.” _

 

_ “Well, I certainly hope you’re sticking around. Hey Karen? Can I- can I hug you, maybe? It’s just, it’s been a long time and you really were-are one of my best friends.” _

 

_ “Oh, Matt. Of course. Come here.” _

 

_ “Can I keep telling you things that you can’t possibly have context for? It’s just, your presence. You’re real. And -” _

 

_ “I get it. Please, go ahead.” _

 

_ “Just as background, I was in love with you back then. I wanted to marry you. You understood me and all my faults and accepted me even then. And you let me in and experience you, too. Faults and all. Hurt and all. You let me see and be seen, and I know that isn’t always easy. And I can’t possibly thank you enough for sharing yourself with me. _

 

_ “Everything that’s happened since, everyone I’ve loved since, well, I still think about you a lot. No matter what they all are and were to me, I still love you. Romantically, platonically, whatever. I know you’re not the same Karen, I don’t know what you are to each other, but I want you to know how much you matter. How deep this love goes. Please take care of yourself Karen.” _

 

_ “Oh, Matt.” _ )

 

Matt hits the high points, shuts up on the rest because they deserve some privacy, and Matt deserves some closure.

 

“Let’s really watch out for her, then,” Foggy concludes.

 

Matt takes his hand. “Yeah.”

 

Other Matt and Karen hug it out for a long while.

 

Eventually, the other Matt lets out a sigh. “Well, I guess if we’re on the topic of goodbyes, I should say bye to Foggy as well.”

 

“Should I send him in?” She asks him, voice heavy with new knowledge.

 

“Oh, he knows. Take a breather, Karen. Tell Frank Castle I’ll kill him if you get hurt.”

 

“Matt- how- you know what, one of these days I’m going to get used to your senses.”

 

Matt turns to Foggy. “I think it’s your turn, buddy.” Matt kisses the hand he’s holding at lets him go. Karen and Foggy hug in the hallway. Two warm bodies, full of life.

 

Matt hugs Karen when the door clicks closed behind her.

 

“You guys hear all that?” 

 

Matt nods.

 

“I better not die, then.”

 

“You won’t. Not on my watch.”

She sighs and lets herself be held. It's all Matt can offer. 

 

“Are they having sex in your office?” She asks, at last.

 

Matt laughs, full chested, and it shakes Karen, too. She joins him, even if her laughter is wet around the edges.

 

“No, but they are making out a little sadly. Oh, they just stopped. I think he heard me. Foggy might be frowning at me. He’s waving his middle finger in the air. ‘Stop narrating, asshole,’ Baldie says. He says he’s gonna strangle me, that guy’s insatiable. Disgusting. Keep it in your pants, pervert. All right he’s telling me to go in, now. Bye Karen. Love you, Karen. ‘Take care, Karen,’ okay, that last one was him.” Matt kisses her hair and makes his way over to his office, smiling softly to himself.

 

In the space between, though, Matt hears something that does upset him, genuinely. He waits by the door.

 

“Foggy, be diligent about check ups. Don’t get cancer.”

 

“Is that something I should be worried about?”

 

“Unfortunately, maybe. I mean, Karen’s still kicking, so hopefully you bypass that one, too. I don’t know your futures or anything, I can just warn you about what has happened for me.”

 

“Will do. Thanks, Matt.”

 

“Kiss me one more time?”

 

“Sure, buddy.”

 

Matt walks in before they break apart, just to hear them be awkward for a second. And Matt does still get jealous.

 

“Hey, am I interrupting something?” Matt asks them, coy as ever.

 

“Not at all,” other Matt replies venomously. He turns to Foggy again. “I guess you can leave now.”

 

“Bye.” Foggy takes his leave and claps Matt on the back as he enters the room.

 

“Alright, you. I don’t know what to say to you," The older Matt starts.

 

“That makes two of us.”

 

“One of us, technically.”

 

“Do you think you’ll ever be funny?”

 

“Not with that attitude.”

 

Matt- the older Matt- takes a seat behind the desk proper, and Matt sits down across from him in his admittedly less comfortable seat for clients.

 

“Guard them well, I guess.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And there may be some other people that come along and who try to become your friend. Don’t push them away at the outset.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Don’t take on an apprentice, especially a genius kid called Sam Chung. On the chance you do, protect him vehemently.”

 

“Noted.”

 

“Make friends with the Avengers because if Foggy does get cancer, they’re going to be the only reason he has a fighting chance.”

 

“That bad, huh?”

 

“The numbers were really disheartening, yes.”

 

They both sigh at the same time. Same cadence, same volume, same length. Amazing, truly.

 

“Well, not to spoil the atmosphere, but we still have a while before they’re finished with that whole process. Shall we get lunch?” the younger man asks, sitting up.

 

“Sounds like a fine idea, young padawan. Please, after you.”

 

When they get back to Foggy’s office, the pair are doodling in the margins of Foggy’s unused notebooks and seeming altogether pleased with their creations. It’s a perfect day, and folks are happy. More importantly, folks that happen to be friends with Matt.

 

On their way out, Matt gives the science crew a business card and scrawls a personal number, his burner, on the back in red ink. It's the only pen he keeps on his person.

 

“666-0001?” Van Dyne intones. “You’re Daredevil aren’t you?”

 

“That subtle, huh?”

 

“That subtle. Welcome to the team, Mr. Murdock. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”

 

~~

 

Foggy and Karen take a lot of pictures that day, things to remember this whole bizarro situation by. It’s mostly lost on the two Matts.

 

“God, I wish they wouldn’t do this when my face is so naked.”

 

“You’re probably still pretty.”

 

“You think so?”

 

“Yeah, you have my face.”

 

“I had it first.”

 

~~

 

It’s late, almost evening, when they’re told to come back into the office. The short walk up the building stairs feels really final.

 

“Alright, you ready to go back home?” van Dyne asks when they walk back into the meeting room.

 

Before he steps into the already vibrating pod, Matt gives them each a hug. Well, he gives Karen a hug, Foggy a kiss, and Matt a punch on the shoulder.

 

“All right,” Banner announces. “Got everything you came with? Clothes, keys, phone, wallet?” Matt does the patented pocket pat and gives out a thumbs up.

 

“I guess this is it, then. Goodbye.” Matt white knuckles his white cane and sucks in a breath as Banner pulls down a lever.


	9. Matt Murdock

**** When the vibrating all around him finally stops, everything around him feels like it had recently been a vacuum. The spaces between atoms feel like they've shrunk and expanded and rearranged themselves in a nanosecond. His ears pop. 

It’s relatively quiet around him and he lands in an unused office space. Outside, there is the familiar heartbeat of the city, beating in footsteps and car honks and annoyed pedestrians. It certainly feels right.

Matt walks out, a little surprised that the building has the exact same layout, with the addition of a cardboard sign on the door window that reads “FOR SALE FOR LEASE” in big block letters. In another universe, this office is his home.

He heads towards Foggy’s apartment. His Foggy’s apartment. 

When he gets to the building, he tunes in to the commotion inside. Curious, he opens the door with Foggy’s spare, the one that rests preciously on his chain. The takes the elevator and the bustling in Foggy’s suite gets louder. Loud enough that he doesn’t even have to concentrate to parse out words.

“-can’t just open up portals willy nilly, it’s a delicate process and-” he hears one of them say.

“-know for sure where he’s gone off to and we-”

“-finds a way back on his own-”

“-can't even contact him-"

“-what if we can’t-”

“-Matt Murdock-"

Oh, great. A search party for him. Wahoo. He prepares for the imminent headache.

He swings open the door dramatically.

“Foggy, are you having a party without me?”

“Matt!” Foggy shoots up from the middle of the crowd and runs to him, throwing his arms around his best friend.

Matt breathes him in for some long moments.

“What the hell happened to you?” Foggy demands.

“I’ll tell you all about it, buddy. Later. Privately.” He turns to address the crowd in the room. He’s too tired to try to figure them all out, but he knows there are at least twenty bodies in there. If they start speaking, he’d be able to tell by their voices, but shifting dimensions really dampens the senses and saps the energy. “As for all of you, I want to thank you all for your concern, but here I am in one piece.” Matt makes a theatrical turn to present himself. “Now, if you would all excuse me, I’m feeling very tired and would like a word with my partner, if that's okay with all of you.”

Slowly, confusedly, the crown begins to file out. He can make out some familiar voices as they approach him.

“Don’t pull that disappearing shit again,” Jessica warns, punching him on the shoulder.

“Glad to see you’re doing well,” Danny tells him.

Luke just shakes his head. “Get some sleep, man.”

“Glad to see you’re still kicking.” Peter.

“Don’t put Foggy through that again. Ever.” Kirsten.

It’s a little like that, even with the awkward ones who don’t actually know who he is. Just a few “glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere” type sentiments and a handshake, if inclined.

Once they’re all out of the apartment, Matt deflates and sprawls out on Foggy’s couch like a million years had just lifted from his black.

“Okay, so, what happened?” Foggy asks, patting Matt’s crossed legs. Obediently, Matt lifts them to make room for Foggy.

“I don’t know. One minute, I was in a taxi heading to work, and the next, I was in another dimension where Karen was around and you were blond, apparently. Is there anything you can tell me?”

Foggy sighs. “You just got in the wrong car, buddy.”

“I could have told you that.”

“No, I mean, the driver was a radiation experiment gone rogue. She had signed up for an experimental cancer treatment. She thought she was fine, but her particles kept flashing between realities. She checked in to work anyway, and the next thing we know, you were gone.”

“How did you find out?”

“I made some calls when I suspected something was off. Went to check footage from the area, cross referencing license plates. The boring stuff you don’t miss.” Foggy takes Matt’s shoes off for him and starts rubbing his feet, even though they’re pretty gross from walking around all day. “The driver was in an alleyway when we found her, poor thing. I guess it got progressively worse. We had to keep her still because I guess moving around too much when your limbs are in another dimension could mean you lose them permanently.”

“Wow, how is she?”

“They have her in a quantum bubble to stabilize her for now. Until they can cure her. Of course, she’s suing and I’m representing her.”

“You’re the best, Foggy. Amazing in every way. I don’t tell you enough.”

“That you don’t, my friend."

“What did you tell everyone? Everyone in the search party I mean?”

“Your identity is safe, if that’s what your worried about. I told them you were a casualty in a quantum accident, and that I might need people with freaky powered abilities to step in.”

“Don’t call my powers freaky. That’s probably discrimination.” Matt yawns. “Foggy, you’re so smart.”

Foggy hums and stops rubbing. “Do you need a nap? It’s only 7 o’clock. Have you eaten?” Matt shakes his head and dozes. Foggy shakes him a little. “Matt, wake up. Take some pyjamas. Nap on my bed, if it’s more comfortable. You look tuckered. I’ll order some food and wake you up in a half hour. What do you want to eat?”

“You,” Matt answers, quietly, already regretting it.

“Hm?”  _ Ah, good. He didn’t hear it _ .

“You pick. I trust you.”

“Okay, Matt. Don’t fall asleep yet. You can’t sleep in slacks. It’s just not done.”

Matt agrees. When he’s standing, he knows he can muster up the energy to strip himself. He’d rather savour the feeling of Foggy unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his pants down for him. Matt collapses onto the plush mattress and imagines himself belonging there.

~~

He wakes up to Foggy poking him.

“Matt? It’s been an hour. You can eat if you want. Or not. Man, you're a brick. I’m just going to let you sleep because it looks like you need it, but food’s in the fridge on your shelf, like always if you get hungry, okay?”

Matt grunts and burrows his face into a pillow that smells wonderful.

“Left a note on the table in case you forget. All right, I have some more work to do. Night, Matt.” 

He flops around and immediately falls back asleep.

~~

He wakes up again a few hours later to Foggy shuffling around, getting changed into pyjamas.

“Foggy?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. Are you sleeping?”

“Yes. Sleep some more. I’ll take the couch.”

“Come to bed,” Matt requests, flailing an arm around to catch Foggy anywhere. He gets the drawstrings on Foggy’s pants and pulls him in.

“Okay.”

They sleep.

~~

In the morning, Matt is nose deep in Foggy’s hair. New York is a familiar symphony to his senses, and everything is right with the world.

It’s also, apparently, 5am and he’s starving.

He springs into the kitchen and feels around the fridge for anything decent to eat. On his usual shelf, there is a lone take out container. He gives a good whiff.

It used to be sushi. It would have been great when it was first ordered, ten whole hours ago. Now, it’s inedible.

Matt puts on Foggy’s lacey apron. (A gag gift from Matt one year, an incentive to get Foggy to start cooking. It has since remained unused on a hook in his kitchen.) After a second’s thought, he also shucks off his boxers and folds them neatly on the couch. Might as well go for the full effect. 

Then he starts cracking eggs.

~~

There’s a breakfast feast a mere hour and a half later. Fruit smoothies, ham and spinach frittata, and two lovely stacks of pancakes. He hears Foggy grumble and slap himself awake moments before he walks into the main living area.

“Morning, Matt,” he greets, sleepily taking his seat at the table. By the sound of it, he’s hardly opened his eyes. “Thanks for breakfast. Say, do you have any-”

“Coffee? Of course.” Matt brings the whole carafe over and fills Foggy’s mug like a server. It’s piping hot, but Foggy drinks it in long drafts. Patiently, Matt stays standing as long as he has an excuse to. He pours himself a cup of coffee, as well. He replaces the pot, he even arranges the citrus in the bowl three times before he really starts to feel Foggy’s attention on him.

“Hey, Matt? I’ve been meaning to ask,” Foggy starts, slicing through his stack of luxurious pancakes.

“Yes?” Matt tries to play coy and not eager.

“What happened to your hair?”

Matt frowns.

“A necessary casualty to interdimensional travel,” he enunciates with purpose. He leans unhappily on the kitchen counter.

“So did it, like, fall off? Did it get left behind? Did someone from the other dimension force you to sell it so you had money to use while you were there?”

“They had to study its atoms for a trace of this dimension so I could get back. It was either this or a finger.”

“I mean, it doesn’t look  _ bad _ ,” Foggy continues. Matt sighs into his hands. This is not going how he had envisioned it. “It’s just a little, I don’t know, 6 years ago? It feels a little skinheady in today’s political climate.”

“Plenty of people are bald, Foggy. It’ll grow back.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just curious. Come here, I want to get a better look at you.” Matt, feeling a little ridiculous in nothing but the apron now, reluctantly follows. Foggy cups his face and feels around it with long, wandering motions. “It’s fuzzy.”

“Yeah? Is that good or bad?”

“Your hair’s just light so you look balder. It's a bold look, but it’ll be back in no time,” Foggy assures. Matt can hear the laughter in his throat. Matt’s certain he’s just taking the piss now. He still won’t let go of Matt’s head. “In the meantime, you should grow a beard. I feel like it’ll balance it out. Like Heisenberg.”

“The uncertainty principle?”

“Walter White. From Breaking Bad. He was bald and had a goatee.”

“You could look great in a goatee.”

“Pfft. Actually, maybe. I’ve been thinking about doing something with my facial hair.” Foggy rubs Matt on his growing scruff. It’s not unpleasant. Matt lets his eyes close to it.

“Don’t you dare, I was fully kidding.”

“Alright, alright. Got it. Matt doesn’t like me with a beard.” 

“I always like you, Foggy,” Matt says, honest.

“You old sap. Come here.” Foggy kisses him with his morning breath and syrup tongue. Matt sinks into it. “You are trying to seduce me this morning, aren’t ya?” Foggy accuses.

“Don’t say ‘seduce.’ It makes it sound nefarious.”

“Well, your ass  _ is _ fully on display here. And you’re wearing an  _ apron _ . It’s a very particular image of male fantasy, Matt.”

“It was more of a wooing, in my mind,” Matt admits. Emboldened now that he knows he's being looked at and seen.

“Since when were you so brazen?”

“Always. Man Without Fear, they called me.” Matt straddles Foggy in his chair and sits down. Foggy takes another bite of pancake over his shoulder. Matt smiles to himself, because there really is no other way he should have expected this to go.

“Not around me, you weren’t. Not like this.”

“You made me nervous. But I was given some encouragement while I was away.”

“What do you mean?” Foggy asks, taking a sip of water.

“Well, I met another version of us, and I realized how obvious we were, dancing around each other.”

“Did we fuck?” Foggy asks, nonchalant. He kisses Matt’s neck before continuing his meal.

“Yes. Is that weird?”

“I mean they’re other versions of us, but they’re not us. They can do whatever they want, right?” Foggy shrugs and leans back in his chair, letting some air flood the space between them.

“No, I mean me and the other you. And me and the other me and other you. Is  _ that _ too weird?”

“Probably. I’m sure you’ve seen weirder.”

“I can guarantee that I haven’t.”

“Oh my god, Matt. You need to stop being this person. You’re at an eleven all the time, and we need you down at a six, maximum.”

“I’ll try harder from now on. Promise.” Matt twists his fingers in Foggy’s hair. Soft, like before. Maybe a little shorter on the top. They kiss for a few short seconds when Matt’s stomach decides to make a guest appearance. 

“You should probably eat something,” Foggy comments, handing Matt a fork and manhandling his waist into a standing position. Defiant, Matt sits back down.

“Can’t you feed me? I’ve had a really long week,” he pouts emphatically.

“You’re at a 12 and rising. It’s unbelievable.” Despite this, Foggy brings over Matt’s plate and starts making little forkfuls to press against Matt’s lips, which open obediently. “You’re shameless. I’m getting secondhand embarrassment from this little scene you’re playing. If I had known you were like this I would have sent Kirsten a goddamn cake when you broke up.”

“You’re dripping syrup, Foggy,” Matt states in lieu of responding.

“Awfully lucky you have that apron on, then, isn’t it?” Foggy says pointedly as his face follows Matt’s hand reaching over to untie first the knot behind his neck, then the one behind his back. For effect, he also crumples the apron up and throws it somewhere behind Foggy. Foggy shakes his head disapprovingly. “Don’t say it.”

“Wanna lick it clean for me?”

Foggy does it anyway, giving a few playful nips because Matt’s a brat.

“Call in sick today, Foggy. I have plans.”

“So bossy,” Foggy chides, but he drafts the email anyway while Matt finds the whipped cream. As soon as his finger hits send, he gets back to putting his mouth on Matt.

Eventually, Matt moves off of him and makes to lead them back to the bedroom, but Foggy’s hand is firm on his arm when he guides Matt to the seat beside him.

“First, you have to eat. You haven’t properly had a meal in God knows how long.”

Like with many things, Foggy’s right. Matt picks up his fork and sighs dreamily.


	10. Matt. Just Matt.

Now that the other Matt is gone, and now that Matt and Foggy have already talked about it a little, the vast majority of Matt's fears surrounding Foggy and paralyzing uncertainty have dissipated.

 

On Tuesday, work is more or less normal, bar Foggy kissing his cheek while retrieving Matt’s coffee and a memorable moment in meeting, when Foggy momentarily rests his whole palm on Matt’s thigh under the table.

 

“It feels a little weird to be asking you out on a date,” Matt admits to him at the end of the day. They’d just escorted Karen to a cab and Matt had suggested walking over to his place before they head to a reservation together. “You’re my best friend. We’ve had plenty of dinners together. How is this going to be any different? Can’t we just skip to the part where we’re naked?”

 

“No can do, buddy, I want an honest courting. I’ve been saving money and I’m going to treat you proper whether you like it or not.”

 

“What are we going to do, though? Why is this place so special?”

 

"It just is. You'll see. I think you're going to like it a lot."

 

Matt complains nearly the entire way there, petulantly pointing out every little thing that he doesn't find amusing and every moment where Matt feels like they could be doing more with their hands. Something violent or erotic. It doesn’t much matter to Matt.

 

That is, until they step into a surprisingly upscale place a whole 40 minute ride away. There’s something about the place that makes Matt’s body open up to it and just receive like a basking sunflower.

 

“Reservation for Nelson and Murdock,” Foggy tells the hostess. And she hugs him.

 

“Foggy! Welcome back! It's funny, Jennifer was just talking about you!” On the way to their seat, they pass a kitchen where the chef gives Foggy a kiss on the cheek.

 

“What is this place?” Matt thinks to ask when they find their seats. It’s a booth by a window, nice and private, and even if Matt can’t appreciate the view, he can definitely appreciate the proximity to the familiar city sounds and the cool glass behind him.

 

“It’s the place my grandparents opened up when my family first immigrated here. They’ve since expanded, if you couldn't tell. Let me just say, finding a way to sell Czech cuisine as something refined wasn't easy back in the day, but if the Veselýs are anything, it’s resolute.”

 

“So this isn’t the Nelson brood’s doing?”

 

“No, this is my mom's side. The Nelsons supply the meat here, actually. City’s finest.”

 

“Why are we not richer, Foggy? Have you been hiding the fact that you’re an actual esquire?”

 

“I’ve never hidden that fact, Matthew. It's known throughout the land. And as per your point, my mom’s never been into taking money from her parents. If anything, it’s a miracle she even lets babi and ded’s restaurant buy our meat with a 'family tip' which mom does realize is the exact opposite of how that works and does not shut up about. But the Nelsons are, admittedly, a financial handful, and I think mom didn’t want to impose too much since she married into it.”

 

“Remind me to get your mom something nice for her birthday. Like a car. Or a house.”

 

“She misses you. You should call, actually." And it is easy. Foggy's family already likes Matt. Everything is easy with Foggy. "So what do you think?”

 

“It feels like you, kind of. Sort of cozy and warm everywhere, very welcoming, I guess. But sophisticated, too. It smells incredible, and there’s this thing that happens when people’s skin mixes with their happy sweat and perfumes and it just brings a space to life. And all the herbs in the kitchen? The fresh citrus? The fatty meat? Foggy you have no idea. I could bury myself here.”

 

“Sounds creepy. Tell me more.”

 

“Well, I can tell that people are happy here. There are, maybe, a hundred or so bodies here? None of them are tense right now. All of them are sharing stories or jokes or something with loved ones. There's clinking glasses, cutlery on plates, kids giggling. Okay maybe one or two are complaining about the quantity of vegetables, but the point still stands. How does a place like this exist?”

 

“I feel the ghosts of my grandparents blessing these hallowed halls,” Foggy tells him. “Actually,  it’s really not the fanciest place or anything, if you get a good look at it. But there were some recent renovations, I guess.

 

"It's just, my uncle Petey went to culinary school, so when he came back to work on this place after babi and ded retired, people really started paying attention to the food. It got the attention of some famous food blog, and here we are, four years later. Right place, right time, really. A lot of the patrons are family friends still, but I think there’s a high retention rate for newcomers as well. My cousin Sarah even runs a Twitter for this place.

 

“Anyway, every time I come here, I think of family, So I wanted to bring you here. Because you’re my family, And I want you to know these parts of me, even if they’re a bit mundane compared to your whole superhero schtick.”

 

Matt shakes his head, dizzy and light. “No, Foggy, this is perfect. Thank you.”

 

Foggy brags to the server, Yvonne, that Matt is a super taster, and the chef ( _“call me Uncle Pete”_ ) personally brings out a tray of small meats and pastries for him to identify while Foggy reads off a list of ingredients. Matt gets a perfect score and everyone cheers for him. Other patrons included. It makes Matt swell with pride even if it's such a small thing compared to the scale of other things he's done. To be recognized, to be welcomed. 

 

Uncle Pete gives them free wine and dessert, a perfect strawberry kolache, with a modern twist ( _“is that lime and nutmeg? Give my compliments to the chef!”_ ). Matt feels a real and tangible joy in a New York that had always only ever seemed to be crying. And at the center of it is Foggy.

 

They exit the restaurant into the inviting night air, cooling on their alcohol-warmed skin. Perhaps it was also the company. Matt is feeling just the right amount of buzzed to feel unabashedly and loudly effervescent. They commute in the beautifully decrepit New York subway, they walk back to Matt’s apartment, clinging to each other, speaking nonsense like they had years prior. Only it’s better now, because all the secrets between them had been worn thin and thrown away.

 

Foggy kisses him at the door with a chaste, closed mouth and Matt can feel the breadth of his grin.

 

“Come inside,” Matt breathes. “I don’t want this to end, yet.”

 

“So bossy,” Foggy teases, shrugging off his coat and stepping inside. He lays it carefully on the rack and makes his way further in. “Come on, then,” he beckons when Matt doesn’t move. 

 

They do a little shuffle by the couch, neither wanting to sit first. Finally, Foggy catches Matt in an inescapable embrace and sends them both crashing down.

 

“So what did you think, Matt? Did it feel like a date?” Foggy asks, muffled in Matt’s neck.

 

“Yeah,” Matt nods airily. He sets his glasses carefully on the coffee table. “Hardly romantic though, was it? All I did was meet your uncle and eat his food. Could do that any ole weekday.”

 

“I’ll have you know I was always planning on saving that place for my future spouse because that place is _that_ precious to me,” Foggy counters, poking his fingers into Matt’s side. Matt feels giddy again and marvels at how he can feel this giddy a whole decade into the same crush.

 

“Shame you wasted it on me, then, huh?”

 

“Unbelievable. I’m really going to have to put out on the first date, huh?” Foggy says in faux protest, undoing his tie. “The things I do to keep a man…”

 

“You put out in less than that if you'd recall, counselor. I’d hardly call you a prude.” Matt had already thrown his tie across the floor, and was halfway out of his shirt.

 

“I am not a hussy, if that’s what you’re insinuating, Matthew.”

 

“Suck my dick and prove it.”

 

“That sounds about right.”

 

~~

 

Wednesday morning comes and there’s a light rain beating on the window. Matt’s senses had always been dampened by the rain. There would be too many moving shapes in every direction, to many sounds of water hitting too many different kinds of material. Today, though, Matt is glad for it because it drowns out the city and clears his world to nearly nothing. Nearly nothing but the wailing child downstairs being calmed by her mother’s lilting lullaby, the elderly couple already clinking coffee mugs for the day, the man below them fiddling with his radio as he waters his plants, and Foggy snoring softly beside him. He lets himself sleep some more. There would be the world to deal with later. And perhaps God actually had made some space for Matt’s happiness.

 

Matt walks into work like so many days before, guided by Foggy, an affectionate grin playing on his lips. Except today, they’re in their own world, whispering under a large umbrella. It’s a childish thrill. Of the same sort that comes from being inside of a blanket fort, where one can imagine the world consists only of what they choose to put in it. Matt would choose Foggy. Matt has chosen Foggy. Matt will keep choosing Foggy a million times over to keep by his side in his little world.

 

“How was your date?” Karen asks when they walk in. She’s at the kitchenette brewing a bright and cheerful chamomile tea and it fills the office. Foggy shakes the umbrella down at the door at places it gingerly in the designated bucket.

 

“Pretty splendid.” Matt can already feel himself smiling too much. He must look like a loon.

 

“Splendid?” Karen mocks. “Romance has made you soft, Murdock. You sound like my grandpa.”

 

“How is he these days?”

 

“Dead. Buried beside his wife of 64 years.”

 

“Then I don’t think I mind, Karen.” Matt whistles while he fixes himself a mug of tea and heads confidently to his desk.

 

“I think you broke him, Foggy. I used to think he was the cool one. You know, broody, brave and callow? Now he’s all… happy. Like a daisy.”

 

“Good, then. I’ve usurped his spot, right?” Foggy says proudly. He heads towards his own office with his very own warm cuppa.

 

“Hey Foggy?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Thanks, for whatever you’re doing. It’s nice seeing him like this.”

 

~~

 

Matt can feel it in the air current that the rain will be gone by tomorrow. But today, he’s over at Foggy’s small apartment. It’s much less sparse and lifeless than Matt’s own. They’re just sitting beside each other on the bed; Foggy is making his way through some book or another, and Matt is cradling an open laptop.

 

He could be doing anything, but he’s not. He’s listening to the thunder rolling, reverent like an angelic choir. Crushing in its depth, the complexity of the whip-crack sound, rounding its own consonants and vowels, impossible to pronounce with a human tongue. It’s loud and echoing, and it engulfs the world with it’s beauty. There is no one out in a storm like this. No one to get their purses snatched, no one out to shoot a gun when the storm would obscure even the sharpest vision. There is no blood to spill on the streets. It would be a blasphemy to corrupt the baptismal rain. There are no cracking bones because they couldn't possibly compete with the thunder. There are no tears in Hell’s Kitchen because the sky weeps enough for everyone. Especially tonight.

 

Or perhaps there are. Either way, Matt is impotent in the rain, he reads the heavenly message loud and clear. That even God does not expect anything of him tonight. So Matt will take this reprieve and savor it.

 

There will be work to do tomorrow. And Matt will leave it for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, friends. Matt Murdock is canonically a slut. He's awful.


End file.
